common core state stanDarDs For english Language arts & .docx

common core state stanDarDs For

english Language arts
&
Literacy in
History/social studies,
science, and technical subjects

appendix B: text exemplars and
sample Performance tasks

Common Core State StandardS for engliSh language artS &
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exemplars of reading text complexity, Quality, and range
& sample Performance tasks related to core standards

Selecting Text Exemplars
The following text samples primarily serve to exemplify the
level of complexity and quality that the Standards require
all students in a given grade band to engage with. Additionally,
they are suggestive of the breadth of texts that stu-
dents should encounter in the text types required by the
Standards. The choices should serve as useful guideposts in
helping educators select texts of similar complexity, quality,
and range for their own classrooms. They expressly do
not represent a partial or complete reading list.

The process of text selection was guided by the following
criteria:

• Complexity. Appendix A describes in detail a three-part
model of measuring text complexity based on quali-
tative and quantitative indices of inherent text difficulty
balanced with educators’ professional judgment in
matching readers and texts in light of particular tasks. In
selecting texts to serve as exemplars, the work group
began by soliciting contributions from teachers, educational
leaders, and researchers who have experience
working with students in the grades for which the texts have
been selected. These contributors were asked to
recommend texts that they or their colleagues have used
successfully with students in a given grade band. The
work group made final selections based in part on whether
qualitative and quantitative measures indicated
that the recommended texts were of sufficient complexity for
the grade band. For those types of texts—par-
ticularly poetry and multimedia sources—for which these
measures are not as well suited, professional judg-
ment necessarily played a greater role in selection.

• Quality. While it is possible to have high-complexity texts

of low inherent quality, the work group solicited only
texts of recognized value. From the pool of submissions
gathered from outside contributors, the work group
selected classic or historically significant texts as well as
contemporary works of comparable literary merit,
cultural significance, and rich content.

• Range. After identifying texts of appropriate complexity
and quality, the work group applied other criteria to
ensure that the samples presented in each band represented as
broad a range of sufficiently complex, high-
quality texts as possible. Among the factors considered were
initial publication date, authorship, and subject
matter.

Copyright and Permissions
For those exemplar texts not in the public domain, we secured
permissions and in some cases employed a conser-
vative interpretation of Fair Use, which allows limited, partial
use of copyrighted text for a nonprofit educational
purpose as long as that purpose does not impair the rights
holder’s ability to seek a fair return for his or her work.
In instances where we could not employ Fair Use and have been
unable to secure permission, we have listed a title
without providing an excerpt. Thus, some short texts are not
excerpted here, as even short passages from them would
constitute a substantial portion of the entire work. In addition,
illustrations and other graphics in texts are generally
not reproduced here. Such visual elements are particularly
important in texts for the youngest students and in many
informational texts for readers of all ages. (Using the
qualitative criteria outlined in Appendix A, the work group con-
sidered the importance and complexity of graphical elements
when placing texts in bands.)

When excerpts appear, they serve only as stand-ins for the full

text. The Standards require that students engage with
appropriately complex literary and informational works; such
complexity is best found in whole texts rather than pas-
sages from such texts.

Please note that these texts are included solely as exemplars in
support of the Standards. Any additional use of those
texts that are not in the public domain, such as for classroom
use or curriculum development, requires independent
permission from the rights holders. The texts may not be copied
or distributed in any way other than as part of the
overall Common Core State Standards Initiative documents.

Sample Performance Tasks
The text exemplars are supplemented by brief performance tasks
that further clarify the meaning of the Standards.
These sample tasks illustrate specifically the application of the
Standards to texts of sufficient complexity, quality,
and range. Relevant Reading standards are noted in brackets
following each task, and the words in italics in the task
reflect the wording of the Reading standard itself. (Individual
grade-specific Reading standards are identified by their
strand, grade, and number, so that RI.4.3, for example, stands
for Reading, Informational Text, grade 4, standard 3.)

Common Core State StandardS for engliSh language artS &
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How to Read This Document
The materials that follow are divided into text complexity grade
bands as defined by the Standards: K–1, 2–3, 4–5, 6–8,
9–10, and 11–CCR. Each band’s exemplars are divided into text
types matching those required in the Standards for
a given grade. K–5 exemplars are separated into stories, poetry,
and informational texts (as well as read-aloud texts
in kindergarten through grade 3). The 6–CCR exemplars are
divided into English language arts (ELA), history/social
studies, and science, mathematics, and technical subjects, with
the ELA texts further subdivided into stories, drama,
poetry, and informational texts. (The history/social studies texts
also include some arts-related texts.) Citations intro-
duce each excerpt, and additional citations are included for
texts not excerpted in the appendix. Within each grade
band and after each text type, sample performance tasks are
included for select texts.

Media Texts
Selected excerpts are accompanied by annotated links to related
media texts freely available online at the time of the
publication of this document.

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table of contents

K–1 text exemplars
...............................................................................................
............14

stories
...............................................................................................
................................14

Minarik, Else Holmelund. Little Bear
.............................................................................. 14

Eastman, P. D. Are You My Mother?
............................................................................... 15

Seuss, Dr. Green Eggs and Ham.
..................................................................................... 15

Lopshire, Robert. Put Me in the Zoo
............................................................................. 15

Lobel, Arnold. Frog and Toad Together
...................................................................... 15

Lobel, Arnold. Owl at Home
.............................................................................................
16

DePaola, Tomie. Pancakes for Breakfast
...................................................................... 17

Arnold, Tedd. Hi! Fly Guy
...............................................................................................
.... 17

Poetry
...............................................................................................
................................. 17

Anonymous. “As I Was Going to St. Ives.”
.................................................................. 17

Rossetti, Christina. “Mix a Pancake.”
............................................................................ 17

Fyleman, Rose. “Singing-Time.”
..................................................................................... 18

Milne, A. A. “Halfway Down.”
............................................................................................
18

Chute, Marchette. “Drinking Fountain.”
....................................................................... 18

Hughes, Langston. “Poem.”
..............................................................................................

18

Ciardi, John. “Wouldn’t You?”
.......................................................................................... 18

Wright, Richard. “Laughing Boy.”
................................................................................... 18

Greenfield, Eloise. “By Myself.”
........................................................................................ 18

Giovanni, Nikki. “Covers.”
...............................................................................................
.... 18

Merriam, Eve. “It Fell in the City.”
................................................................................... 19

Lopez, Alonzo. “Celebration.”
.......................................................................................... 19

Agee, Jon. “Two Tree Toads.”
...........................................................................................
19

read-aloud stories
...............................................................................................
........20

Baum, L. Frank. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
..........................................................20

Wilder, Laura Ingalls. Little House in the Big Woods
.............................................20

Atwater, Richard and Florence. Mr. Popper’s Penguins

......................................... 21

Jansson, Tove. Finn Family Moomintroll
...................................................................... 21

Haley, Gail E. A Story, A Story
.......................................................................................... 21

Bang, Molly. The Paper Crane
......................................................................................... 22

Young, Ed. Lon Po Po: A Red-Riding Hood Story from China
............................ 23

Garza, Carmen Lomas. Family Pictures
...................................................................... 23

Mora, Pat. Tomás and the Library Lady
....................................................................... 23

Henkes, Kevin. Kitten’s First Full Moon
....................................................................... 24

read-aloud Poetry
...............................................................................................
......... 25

Anonymous. “The Fox’s Foray.”
..................................................................................... 25

Langstaff, John. Over in the Meadow.
......................................................................... 26

Lear, Edward. “The Owl and the Pussycat.”
.............................................................. 27

Hughes, Langston. “April Rain Song.”
.......................................................................... 27

Moss, Lloyd. Zin! Zin! Zin! a Violin
................................................................................. 27

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sample Performance tasks for stories and Poetry
............................................... 28

Informational texts
...............................................................................................
....... 28

Bulla, Clyde Robert. A Tree Is a Plant
.......................................................................... 28

Aliki. My Five Senses

...............................................................................................
........... 29

Hurd, Edith Thacher. Starfish
..........................................................................................30

Aliki. A Weed is a Flower: The Life of George Washington
Carver ..................30

Crews, Donald. Truck
...............................................................................................
...........30

Hoban, Tana. I Read Signs
...............................................................................................
.30

Reid, Mary Ebeltoft. Let’s Find Out About Ice Cream
............................................ 31

“Garden Helpers.” National Geographic Young Explorers
.................................... 31

“Wind Power.” National Geographic Young Explorers
........................................... 31

read-aloud Informational texts
................................................................................. 31

Provensen, Alice and Martin. The Year at Maple Hill
Farm.................................... 31

Gibbons, Gail. Fire! Fire!
...............................................................................................
...... 31

Dorros, Arthur. Follow the Water from Brook to Ocean
....................................... 32

Rauzon, Mark, and Cynthia Overbeck Bix. Water, Water
Everywhere ............ 33

Llewellyn, Claire. Earthworms
......................................................................................... 33

Jenkins, Steve, and Robin Page. What Do You Do With a Tail
Like This? ...... 33

Pfeffer, Wendy. From Seed to Pumpkin
...................................................................... 33

Thomson, Sarah L. Amazing Whales!
...........................................................................34

Hodgkins, Fran, and True Kelley. How People Learned to Fly
............................34

sample Performance tasks for Informational texts
.............................................. 36

Grades 2–3 text exemplars
...........................................................................................
37

stories
...............................................................................................
............................... 37

Gannett, Ruth Stiles. My Father’s Dragon.
................................................................. 37

Averill, Esther. The Fire Cat

..............................................................................................
37

Steig, William. Amos & Boris.
.......................................................................................... 38

Shulevitz, Uri. The
Treasure..................................................................................
............ 38

Cameron, Ann. The Stories Julian Tells
....................................................................... 38

MacLachlan, Patricia. Sarah, Plain and Tall
................................................................ 38

Rylant, Cynthia. Henry and Mudge: The First Book of Their
Adventures ....... 39

Stevens, Janet. Tops and Bottoms
................................................................................40

LaMarche, Jim. The Raft
...............................................................................................
.....40

Rylant, Cynthia. Poppleton in
Winter...........................................................................40

Rylant, Cynthia. The Lighthouse Family: The Storm
............................................... 41

Osborne, Mary Pope. The One-Eyed Giant
(Book One of Tales from the Odyssey)
.................................................................. 41

Silverman, Erica. Cowgirl Kate and Cocoa
.................................................................42

Poetry
...............................................................................................
................................43

Dickinson, Emily. “Autumn.”
.............................................................................................4
3

Rossetti, Christina. “Who Has Seen the Wind?”
......................................................43

Millay, Edna St. Vincent. “Afternoon on a Hill.”
.........................................................43

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Frost, Robert. “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”
................................44

Field, Rachel. “Something Told the Wild Geese.”
....................................................44

Hughes, Langston. “Grandpa’s Stories.”
.....................................................................44

Jarrell, Randall. “A Bat Is Born.”
.....................................................................................44

Giovanni, Nikki. “Knoxville, Tennessee.”
......................................................................44

Merriam, Eve. “Weather.”
...............................................................................................
...45

Soto, Gary. “Eating While Reading.”
............................................................................45

read-aloud stories
...............................................................................................
........46

Kipling, Rudyard. “How the Camel Got His Hump.”
...............................................46

Thurber, James. The Thirteen Clocks
...........................................................................46

White, E. B. Charlotte’s Web
...........................................................................................
47

Selden, George. The Cricket in Times Square
........................................................... 47

Babbitt, Natalie. The Search for Delicious
.................................................................48

Curtis, Christopher Paul. Bud, Not Buddy
..................................................................48

Say, Allen. The Sign Painter
.............................................................................................4
9

read-aloud Poetry
...............................................................................................
.........49

Lear, Edward. “The Jumblies.”
........................................................................................49

Browning, Robert. The Pied Piper of Hamelin
........................................................... 51

Johnson, Georgia Douglas. “Your World.”
................................................................. 52

Eliot, T. S. “The Song of the Jellicles.”
......................................................................... 52

Fleischman, Paul. “Fireflies.”
............................................................................................
52

sample Performance tasks for stories and Poetry
............................................... 53

Informational texts
...............................................................................................
......... 53

Aliki. A Medieval Feast
...............................................................................................
........ 53

Gibbons, Gail. From Seed to Plant
................................................................................54

Milton, Joyce. Bats: Creatures of the Night
...............................................................54

Beeler, Selby. Throw Your Tooth on the Roof:
Tooth Traditions Around the World
........................................................................54

Leonard, Heather. Art Around the World
................................................................... 55

Ruffin, Frances E. Martin Luther King and the March on
Washington ............ 55

St. George, Judith. So You Want to Be President?
................................................. 55

Einspruch, Andrew. Crittercam
...................................................................................... 55

Kudlinski, Kathleen V. Boy, Were We Wrong About Dinosaurs
.......................... 56

Davies, Nicola. Bat Loves the Night
.............................................................................. 56

Floca, Brian. Moonshot: The Flight of Apollo 11
....................................................... 56

Thomson, Sarah L. Where Do Polar Bears Live?
...................................................... 57

read-aloud Informational texts
................................................................................ 57

Freedman, Russell. Lincoln: A Photobiography
....................................................... 57

Coles, Robert. The Story of Ruby Bridges
................................................................. 58

Wick, Walter. A Drop of Water: A Book of Science and Wonder
...................... 58

Smith, David J. If the World Were a Village:
A Book about the World’s People
........................................................................... 59

Aliki. Ah, Music!
...............................................................................................
..................... 59

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Mark, Jan. The Museum Book:
A Guide to Strange and Wonderful Collections
................................................ 59

D’Aluisio, Faith. What the World Eats
..........................................................................60

Arnosky, Jim. Wild Tracks! A Guide to Nature’s Footprints
.................................60

Deedy, Carmen Agra. 14 Cows for America
...............................................................60

sample Performance tasks for Informational texts
...............................................61

Grades 4–5 text exemplars
...........................................................................................
63

stories
...............................................................................................
............................... 63

Carroll, Lewis. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
................................................... 63

Burnett, Frances Hodgson. The Secret Garden
....................................................... 63

Farley, Walter. The Black Stallion
...................................................................................64

Saint-Exupéry, Antoine de. The Little Prince
............................................................64

Babbitt, Natalie. Tuck
Everlasting..............................................................................
....64

Singer, Isaac Bashevis. “Zlateh the Goat.”
..................................................................64

Hamilton, Virginia. M. C. Higgins, the
Great...............................................................64

Erdrich, Louise. The Birchbark House
.......................................................................... 65

Curtis, Christopher Paul. Bud, Not Buddy
.................................................................. 65

Lin, Grace. Where the Mountain Meets the Moon
...................................................66

Poetry
...............................................................................................
................................66

Blake, William. “The Echoing Green.”
..........................................................................66

Lazarus, Emma. “The New Colossus.”

......................................................................... 67

Thayer, Ernest Lawrence. “Casey at the Bat.”
........................................................... 67

Dickinson, Emily. “A Bird Came Down the Walk.”
...................................................68

Sandburg, Carl. “Fog.”
...............................................................................................
........69

Frost, Robert. “Dust of Snow.”
........................................................................................69

Dahl, Roald. “Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf.”
.............................................69

Nichols, Grace. “They Were My People.”
....................................................................69

Mora, Pat. “Words Free As Confetti.”
...........................................................................69

sample Performance tasks for stories and Poetry
...............................................70

Informational texts
...............................................................................................
.........70

Berger, Melvin. Discovering Mars: The Amazing Story of the
Red Planet ......70

Carlisle, Madelyn Wood. Let’s Investigate Marvelously
Meaningful Maps ....... 71

Lauber, Patricia. Hurricanes: Earth’s Mightiest Storms
........................................... 71

Otfinoski, Steve. The Kid’s Guide to Money: Earning It,
Saving It, Spending It, Growing It, Sharing It
....................................................... 71

Wulffson, Don. Toys!: Amazing Stories Behind Some Great
Inventions .......... 71

Schleichert, Elizabeth. “Good Pet, Bad Pet.”
............................................................. 71

Kavash, E. Barrie. “Ancient Mound Builders.”
............................................................ 71

Koscielniak, Bruce. About Time: A First Look at Time and
Clocks .................... 71

Banting, Erinn. England the Land
.................................................................................. 72

Hakim, Joy. A History of US
.............................................................................................
72

Ruurs, Margriet. My Librarian Is a Camel: How Books
Are Brought to Children Around the World
........................................................ 72

Simon, Seymour. Horses
...............................................................................................
.... 73

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Montgomery, Sy. Quest for the Tree Kangaroo:
An Expedition to the Cloud Forest of New Guinea
.......................................... 73

Simon, Seymour. Volcanoes
............................................................................................
74

Nelson, Kadir. We Are the Ship: The Story of Negro League
Baseball ............ 74

Cutler, Nellie Gonzalez. “Kenya’s Long Dry Season.”
............................................. 74

Hall, Leslie. “Seeing Eye to
Eye.”....................................................................................
74

Ronan, Colin A. “Telescopes.”
......................................................................................... 75

Buckmaster, Henrietta. “Underground Railroad.”
.................................................... 76

sample Performance tasks for Informational texts
.............................................. 76

Grades 6–8 text exemplars
...........................................................................................
77

stories
...............................................................................................
............................... 77

Alcott, Louisa May. Little
Women..................................................................................
77

Twain, Mark. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
........................................................... 77

L’Engle, Madeleine. A Wrinkle in Time
......................................................................... 79

Cooper, Susan. The Dark Is Rising
................................................................................. 79

Yep, Laurence. Dragonwings
...........................................................................................80

Taylor, Mildred D. Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry
.......................................................80

Hamilton, Virginia. “The People Could
Fly.”...............................................................80

Paterson, Katherine. The Tale of the Mandarin Ducks
............................................ 81

Cisneros, Sandra. “Eleven.”
...............................................................................................
81

Sutcliff, Rosemary. Black Ships Before Troy: The Story of the
Iliad................... 81

Drama
...............................................................................................
................................ 82

Fletcher, Louise. Sorry, Wrong Number
...................................................................... 82

Goodrich, Frances and Albert Hackett. The Diary of Anne
Frank: A Play ..... 83

Poetry
...............................................................................................
................................ 83

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. “Paul Revere’s Ride.”
........................................... 83

Whitman, Walt. “O Captain! My Captain!”
................................................................. 85

Carroll, Lewis. “Jabberwocky.”
........................................................................................ 85

Navajo tradition. “Twelfth Song of Thunder.”
...........................................................86

Dickinson, Emily. “The Railway Train.”
.........................................................................86

Yeats, William Butler. “The Song of Wandering Aengus.”
................................... 87

Frost, Robert. “The Road Not
Taken.”.......................................................................... 87

Sandburg, Carl. “Chicago.”
...............................................................................................
87

Hughes, Langston. “I, Too, Sing America.”
................................................................. 88

Neruda, Pablo. “The Book of
Questions.”................................................................... 88

Soto, Gary. “Oranges.”
...............................................................................................
........ 88

Giovanni, Nikki. “A Poem for My Librarian, Mrs. Long.”
........................................ 88

sample Performance tasks for stories, Drama, and Poetry
................................ 89

Informational texts: english Language arts
...........................................................90

Adams, John. “Letter on Thomas Jefferson.”

..........................................................90

Douglass, Frederick. Narrative of the Life of Frederick
Douglass
an American Slave, Written by Himself
.................................................................. 91

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Churchill, Winston. “Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat:
Address to Parliament on May 13th, 1940.”
.......................................................... 91

Petry, Ann. Harriet Tubman: Conductor on the Underground
Railroad .......... 92

Steinbeck, John. Travels with Charley: In Search of America
............................. 92

sample Performance tasks for Informational texts:
english Language arts
...............................................................................................
.. 93

Informational texts: History/social studies
............................................................ 93

United States. Preamble and First Amendment
to the United States Constitution. (1787, 1791)
................................................... 93

Lord, Walter. A Night to Remember
............................................................................. 93

Isaacson, Phillip. A Short Walk through the Pyramids
and through the World of Art
................................................................................... 93

Murphy, Jim. The Great
Fire.........................................................................................
....94

Greenberg, Jan, and Sandra Jordan. Vincent Van Gogh:
Portrait of an Artist
...............................................................................................
........94

Partridge, Elizabeth. This Land Was Made for You and Me:
The Life and Songs of Woody Guthrie
..................................................................94

Monk, Linda R. Words We Live By:
Your Annotated Guide to the Constitution
.......................................................... 95

Freedman, Russell. Freedom Walkers:
The Story of the Montgomery Bus Boycott
......................................................... 95

Informational texts: science, mathematics, and technical
subjects ................96

Macaulay, David. Cathedral: The Story of Its Construction
.................................96

Mackay, Donald. The Building of Manhattan
.............................................................96

Enzensberger, Hans Magnus. The Number Devil:
A Mathematical Adventure
........................................................................................96

Peterson, Ivars and Nancy Henderson. Math Trek:
Adventures in the Math Zone
.................................................................................... 97

Katz, John. Geeks: How Two Lost Boys Rode the Internet out of
Idaho ........ 97

Petroski, Henry. “The Evolution of the Grocery Bag.”
...........................................98

“Geology.” U*X*L Encyclopedia of Science
...............................................................98

“Space Probe.” Astronomy & Space:
From the Big Bang to the Big Crunch
...................................................................98

“Elementary Particles.” New Book of Popular Science
.........................................99

California Invasive Plant Council. Invasive Plant Inventory
..................................99

sample Performance tasks for Informational texts:
History/social studies & science, mathematics, and technical
subjects....... 100

Grades 9–10 text exemplars
........................................................................................ 101

stories
...............................................................................................
.............................. 101

Homer. The Odyssey
...............................................................................................
........... 101

Ovid. Metamorphoses
...............................................................................................
........ 101

Gogol, Nikolai. “The Nose.”
.............................................................................................1
02

De Voltaire, F. A. M. Candide, Or The Optimist
...................................................... 103

Turgenev, Ivan. Fathers and Sons
................................................................................ 104

Henry, O. “The Gift of the Magi.”
.................................................................................. 104

Kafka, Franz. The Metamorphosis
............................................................................... 105

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Steinbeck, John. The Grapes of Wrath
...................................................................... 105

Bradbury, Ray. Fahrenheit 451
...................................................................................... 106

Olsen, Tillie. “I Stand Here Ironing.”
............................................................................ 106

Achebe, Chinua. Things Fall Apart
...............................................................................107

Lee, Harper. To Kill A Mockingbird
...............................................................................107

Shaara, Michael. The Killer
Angels...............................................................................
108

Tan, Amy. The Joy Luck Club
........................................................................................ 108

Álvarez, Julia. In the Time of the Butterflies
........................................................... 108

Zusak, Marcus. The Book Thief
..................................................................................... 109

Drama
...............................................................................................
............................... 110

Sophocles. Oedipus Rex
...............................................................................................
... 110

Shakespeare, William. The Tragedy of Macbeth
.......................................................111

Ibsen, Henrik. A Doll’s House
..........................................................................................11
3

Williams, Tennessee. The Glass Menagerie
................................................................114

Ionesco, Eugene. Rhinoceros.
.........................................................................................115

Fugard, Athol. “Master Harold”…and the boys

.........................................................116

Poetry
...............................................................................................
............................... 116

Shakespeare, William. “Sonnet 73.”
..............................................................................116

Donne, John. “Song.”
...............................................................................................
..........116

Shelley, Percy Bysshe. “Ozymandias.”
......................................................................... 117

Poe, Edgar Allan. “The Raven.”
...................................................................................... 117

Dickinson, Emily. “We Grow Accustomed to the Dark.”
.......................................119

Houseman, A. E. “Loveliest of Trees.”
........................................................................ 120

Johnson, James Weldon. “Lift Every Voice and Sing.”
....................................... 120

Cullen, Countee. “Yet Do I Marvel.”
............................................................................. 120

Auden, Wystan Hugh. ”Musée des Beaux Arts.”
................................................... 120

Walker, Alice. “Women.”
...............................................................................................

... 120

Baca, Jimmy Santiago. “I Am Offering This Poem to You.”
................................ 121

sample Performance tasks for stories, Drama, and Poetry
................................121

Informational texts: english Language arts
..........................................................122

Henry, Patrick. “Speech to the Second Virginia Convention.”
........................... 122

Washington, George. “Farewell Address.”
...............................................................123

Lincoln, Abraham. “Gettysburg Address.”
...............................................................123

Lincoln, Abraham. “Second Inaugural Address.”
...................................................124

Roosevelt, Franklin Delano. “State of the Union Address.”
...............................124

Hand, Learned. “I Am an American Day Address.”
..............................................125

Smith, Margaret Chase. “Remarks to the Senate in Support
of a Declaration of Conscience.”
...........................................................................125

King, Jr., Martin Luther. “Letter from Birmingham Jail.”
...................................... 127

King, Jr., Martin Luther. “I Have a Dream: Address Delivered at
the
March on Washington, D.C., for Civil Rights on August 28,
1963.” ............ 127

Angelou, Maya. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
...............................................128

Wiesel, Elie. “Hope, Despair and
Memory.”...............................................................128

Reagan, Ronald. “Address to Students at Moscow State
University.” ............128

Quindlen, Anna. “A Quilt of a Country.”
.....................................................................129

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sample Performance tasks for Informational texts:
english Language arts
...............................................................................................
.129

Informational texts: History/social studies
.......................................................... 130

Brown, Dee. Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee:
An Indian History of the American West
............................................................ 130

Connell, Evan S. Son of the Morning Star: Custer and the Little
Bighorn .... 130

Gombrich, E. H. The Story of Art, 16th Edition
.........................................................131

Kurlansky, Mark. Cod: A Biography of the Fish That Changed
the World .....131

Haskins, Jim. Black, Blue and Gray: African Americans in the
Civil War ........131

Dash, Joan. The Longitude Prize
..................................................................................132

Thompson, Wendy. The Illustrated Book of Great Composers
.........................132

Mann, Charles C. Before Columbus: The Americas of 1491
.................................133

Informational texts: science, mathematics, and technical
subjects ...............133

Euclid. Elements
...............................................................................................
...................133

Cannon, Annie J. “Classifying the Stars.”
..................................................................135

Walker, Jearl. “Amusement Park Physics.”
................................................................136

Preston, Richard. The Hot Zone: A Terrifying True Story
.....................................136

Devlin, Keith. Life by the Numbers
.............................................................................. 137

Hoose, Phillip. The Race to Save Lord God Bird
..................................................... 137

Hakim, Joy. The Story of Science: Newton at the Center
.................................... 137

Nicastro, Nicholas. Circumference: Eratosthenes and the
Ancient Quest to Measure the Globe
.................................................................... 137

U.S. Environmental Protection Agency/U.S. Department of
Energy.
Recommended Levels of Insulation
.......................................................................138

sample Performance tasks for Informational texts:
History/social studies & science, mathematics, and technical
subjects........138

Grades 11–ccr text exemplars

................................................................................... 140

stories
...............................................................................................
............................. 140

Chaucer, Geoffrey. The Canterbury Tales
................................................................ 140

de Cervantes, Miguel. Don Quixote
............................................................................ 140

Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice
...............................................................................142

Poe, Edgar Allan. “The Cask of Amontillado.”
.........................................................143

Brontë, Charlotte. Jane Eyre
.........................................................................................
144

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The Scarlet Letter
.................................................................145

Dostoevsky, Fyodor. Crime and Punishment
.......................................................... 146

Jewett, Sarah Orne. “A White Heron.”
....................................................................... 146

Melville, Herman. Billy Budd, Sailor
.............................................................................147

Chekhov, Anton. “Home.”
...............................................................................................

.148

Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Great Gatsby
....................................................................... 149

Faulkner, William. As I Lay Dying
................................................................................. 149

Hemingway, Ernest. A Farewell to
............................................................................. 150

Hurston, Zora Neale. Their Eyes Were Watching God
......................................... 150

Borges, Jorge Luis. “The Garden of Forking Paths.”
............................................ 150

Bellow, Saul. The Adventures of Augie March
..........................................................151

Morrison, Toni. The Bluest Eye
....................................................................................... 152

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Garcia, Cristina. Dreaming in Cuban
........................................................................... 152

Lahiri, Jhumpa. The Namesake
...................................................................................... 152

Drama
...............................................................................................
...............................153

Shakespeare, William. The Tragedy of Hamlet
........................................................153

Molière, Jean-Baptiste Poquelin. Tartuffe
.................................................................153

Wilde, Oscar. The Importance of Being Earnest
.....................................................154

Wilder, Thornton. Our Town: A Play in Three Acts
.................................................156

Miller, Arthur. Death of a Salesman
..............................................................................156

Hansberry, Lorraine. A Raisin in the Sun
....................................................................156

Soyinka, Wole. Death and the King’s Horseman: A Play
...................................... 157

Poetry
...............................................................................................
...............................157

Li Po. “A Poem of Changgan.”
....................................................................................... 157

Donne, John. “A Valediction Forbidding Mourning.”
............................................ 157

Wheatley, Phyllis. “On Being Brought From Africa to
America.” .....................158

Keats, John. “Ode on a Grecian Urn.”
.........................................................................158

Whitman, Walt. “Song of Myself.”
................................................................................159

Dickinson, Emily. “Because I Could Not Stop for Death.”
.................................. 160

Tagore, Rabindranath. “Song VII.”
............................................................................... 160

Eliot, T. S. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.”
................................................. 160

Pound, Ezra. “The River Merchant’s Wife: A Letter.”
............................................ 160

Frost, Robert. “Mending Wall.”
.......................................................................................161

Neruda, Pablo. “Ode to My Suit.”

.................................................................................162

Bishop, Elizabeth. “Sestina.”
...........................................................................................16
2

Ortiz Cofer, Judith. “The Latin Deli: An Ars Poetica.”
...........................................162

Dove, Rita. “Demeter’s Prayer to
Hades.”..................................................................163

Collins, Billy. “Man Listening to Disc.”
.........................................................................163

sample Performance tasks for stories, Drama, and Poetry
...............................163

Informational texts: english Language arts
......................................................... 164

Paine, Thomas. Common Sense
................................................................................... 164

Jefferson, Thomas. The Declaration of Independence
........................................ 164

United States. The Bill of Rights (Amendments One through
Ten
of the United States Constitution).
.......................................................................166

Thoreau, Henry David. Walden
......................................................................................167

Emerson, Ralph Waldo. “Society and

Solitude.”.....................................................167

Porter, Horace. “Lee Surrenders to Grant, April 9th, 1865.”
...............................168

Chesterton, G. K. “The Fallacy of Success.”
..............................................................169

Mencken, H. L. The American Language, 4th Edition
...........................................169

Wright, Richard. Black Boy
.............................................................................................1
70

Orwell, George. “Politics and the English Language.”
..........................................170

Hofstadter, Richard. “Abraham Lincoln and the Self-Made
Myth.” ..................170

Tan, Amy. “Mother Tongue.”
...........................................................................................17
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Anaya, Rudolfo. “Take the Tortillas Out of Your Poetry.”
.....................................171

sample Performance tasks for Informational texts:
english Language arts
...............................................................................................
..171

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Informational texts: History/social studies
...........................................................172

Tocqueville, Alexis de. Democracy in America
........................................................ 172

Declaration of Sentiments by the Seneca Falls Conference
.............................. 172

Douglass, Frederick. “What to the Slave Is the Fourth of July?:
An Address Delivered in Rochester, New York, on 5 July
1852.” ................ 173

An American Primer. Edited by Daniel J. Boorstin
................................................ 175

Lagemann, Ellen Condliffe. “Education.”
................................................................... 175

McPherson, James M. What They Fought For 1861–1865

.................................... 175

The American Reader: Words that Moved a Nation, 2nd Edition
..................... 175

Amar, Akhil Reed. America’s Constitution: A Biography
.....................................176

McCullough, David. 1776
...............................................................................................
...176

Bell, Julian. Mirror of the World: A New History of Art
........................................176

FedViews by the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco
.................................. 177

Informational texts: science, mathematics, and technical
subjects ...............179

Paulos, John Allen. Innumeracy:
Mathematical Illiteracy and Its Consequences
..................................................179

Gladwell, Malcolm. The Tipping Point: How Little Things
Can Make a Big Difference
........................................................................................179

Tyson, Neil deGrasse. “Gravity in Reverse:
The Tale of Albert Einstein’s ‘Greatest Blunder.’”
.............................................179

Calishain, Tara, and Rael Dornfest. Google Hacks:
Tips & Tools for Smarter Searching, 2nd Edition
............................................. 180

Kane, Gordon. “The Mysteries of Mass.”
................................................................... 180

Fischetti, Mark. “Working Knowledge: Electronic Stability
Control.” ..............181

U.S. General Services Administration. Executive Order 13423:
Strengthening Federal Environmental, Energy,
and Transportation Management
............................................................................181

Kurzweil, Ray. “The Coming Merger of Mind and Machine.”
..............................182

Gibbs, W. Wayt. “Untangling the Roots of Cancer.”
..............................................182

Gawande, Atul. “The Cost Conundrum:
Health Care Costs in McAllen, Texas.”
..................................................................183

sample Performance tasks for Informational texts:
History/social studies & science, mathematics, and technical
subjects........183

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K–1 text exemplars

Stories

Minarik, Else Holmelund. Little Bear. Illustrated by Maurice
Sendak. New York: HarperCollins, 1957. (1957)
From “Birthday Soup”

“Mother Bear, Mother Bear, Where are you?” calls Little Bear.

“Oh, dear, Mother Bear is not here, and today is my birthday.

“I think my friends will come, but I do not see a birthday cake.
My goodness – no birthday cake. What can I do?

The pot is by the fire. The water in the pot is hot. If I put
something in the water, I can make Birthday Soup. All my
friends like soup.

Let me see what we have. We have carrots and potatoes, peas
and tomatoes; I can make soup with carrots, potatoes,
peas and tomatoes.”

So Little Bear begins to make soup in the big black pot. First,
Hen comes in. “Happy Birthday, Little Bear,” she says.
“Thank you, Hen,” says Little Bear.

Hen says, “My! Something smells good here. Is it in the big
black pot?”

“Yes,” says Little Bear, “I am making Birthday Soup. Will you
stay and have some?”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” says Hen. And she sits down to wait.

Next, Duck comes in. “Happy Birthday, Little bear,” says
Duck. “My, something smells good. Is it in the big black
pot?”

“Thank you, Duck,” says Little Bear. “Yes, I am making
Birthday Soup. Will you stay and have some with us?”

“Thank you, yes, thank you,” says Duck. And she sits down to
wait.

Next, Cat comes in.

“Happy Birthday, Little Bear,” he says.

“Thank you, Cat,” says Little Bear. “I hope you like Birthday
Soup. I am making Birthday Soup.

Cat says, “Can you really cook? If you can really make it, I
will eat it.”

“Good,” says Little Bear. “The Birthday Soup is hot, so we
must eat it now. We cannot wait for Mother Bear. I do not
know where she is.”

“Now, here is some soup for you, Hen,” says Little Bear. “And
here is some soup for you, Duck, and here is some soup
for you, Cat, and here is some soup for me. Now we can all
have some Birthday Soup.”

Cat sees Mother Bear at the door, and says, “Wait, Little Bear.
Do not eat yet. Shut your eyes, and say one, two,
three.”

Little Bear shuts his eyes and says, “One, two, three.”

Mother Bear comes in with a big cake.

“Now, look,” says Cat.

“Oh, Mother Bear,” says Little Bear, “what a big beautiful
Birthday Cake! Birthday Soup is good to eat, but not as
good as Birthday Cake. I am so happy you did not forget.”

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“Yes, Happy Birthday, Little Bear!” says Mother Bear. “This
Birthday Cake is a surprise for you. I never did forget your

birthday, and I never will.”

TEXT COPYRIGHT © 1957 BY ELSE HOLMELUND
MINARIK. ILLUSTRATIONS COPYRIGHT © 1957 BY
MAURICE SEN-
DAK. Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Eastman, P. D. Are You My Mother? New York: Random
House, 1960. (1960)

A mother bird sat on her egg.

The egg jumped.

“Oh oh!” said the mother bird. “My baby will be here! He will
want to eat.”

“I must get something for my baby bird to eat!” she said. “I
will be back!”

So away she went.

From ARE YOU MY MOTHER? by P. D. Eastman, copyright ©
1960 by P. D. Eastman. Copyright renewed 1988 by Mary
L. Eastman. Used by permission of Random House Children’s
Books, a division of Random House, Inc.

Seuss, Dr. Green Eggs and Ham. New York: Random House,
1960. (1960)

Lopshire, Robert. Put Me in the Zoo. New York: Random
House, 1960. (1960)

I will go into the zoo.
I want to see it.
Yes, I do.

I would like to live this way.
This is where I want to stay.

Will you keep me in the zoo?
I want to stay in here with you.

From PUT ME IN THE ZOO by Robert Lopshire, copyright ©
1960, renewed 1988 by Robert Lopshire. Used by permis-
sion of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random
House, Inc. All rights reserved. Any additional use of
this text, such as for classroom use or curriculum development,
requires independent permission from Random House,
Inc.

Mayer, Mercer. A Boy, a Dog and a Frog. New York: Dial,
2003. (1967)

This is a wordless book appropriate for kindergarten.

Lobel, Arnold. Frog and Toad Together. New York:
HarperCollins, 1971. (1971)
From “The Garden”

Frog was in his garden. Toad came walking by.

“What a fine garden you have, Frog,” he said.

“Yes,” said Frog. “It is very nice, but it was hard work.”

“I wish I had a garden,” said Toad.

“Here are some flower seeds. Plant them in the ground,” said
Frog, “and soon you will have a garden.”

“How soon?” asked Toad.

“Quite soon,” said Frog.

Toad ran home. He planted the flower seeds.

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“Now seeds,” said Toad, “start growing.”

Toad walked up and down a few times. The seeds did not start
to grow. Toad put his head close to the ground and
said loudly, “Now seeds, start growing!” Toad looked at the
ground again. The seeds did not start to grow.

Toad put his head very close to the ground and shouted, “NOW
SEEDS, START GROWING!”

Frog came running up the path. “What is all this noise?” he
asked. “My seeds will not grow,” said Toad. “You are

shouting too much,” said Frog. “These poor seeds are afraid to
grow.”

“My seeds are afraid to grow?” asked Toad.

“Of course,” said Frog. “Leave them alone for a few days. Let
the sun shine on them, let the rain fall on them. Soon
your seeds will start to grow.”

That night, Toad looked out of his window. “Drat!” said Toad.
“My seeds have not started to grow. They must be
afraid of the dark.”

Toad went out to his garden with some candles. “I will read the
seeds a story,” said Toad. “Then they will not be
afraid.” Toad read a long story to his seeds.

All the next day Toad sang songs to his seeds.

And all the next day Toad read poems to his seeds.

And all the next day Toad played music for his seeds.

Toad looked at the ground. The seeds still did not start to grow.
“What shall I do?” cried Toad. “These must be the
most frightened seeds in the whole world!”

Then Toad felt very tired and he fell asleep.

“Toad, Toad, wake up,” said Frog. “Look at your garden!”

Toad looked at his garden. Little green plants were coming up
out of the ground.

“At last,” shouted Toad, “my seeds have stopped being afraid to
grow!”

“And now you will have a nice garden too,” said Frog.

“Yes,” said Toad, “but you were right, Frog. It was very hard
work.”

TEXT COPYRIGHT © 1971, 1972 BY ARNOLD LOBEL. Used
by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Lobel, Arnold. Owl at Home. New York: HarperCollins, 1975.
(1975)
From “Owl and the Moon”

One night Owl went down to the seashore. He sat on a large
rock and looked out at the waves. Everything was dark.
Then a small tip of the moon came up over the edge of the sea.

Owl watched the moon. It climbed higher and higher into the
sky. Soon the whole, round moon was shining. Owl sat
on the rock and looked up at the moon for a long time. “If I am
looking at you, moon, then you must be looking back
at me. We must be very good friends.”

The moon did not answer, but Owl said, “I will come back and
see you again, moon. But now I must go home.” Owl
walked down the path. He looked up at the sky. The moon was
still there. It was following him.

“No, no, moon,” said Owl. “It is kind of you to light my way.
But you must stay up over the sea where you look so
fine.” Owl walked on a little farther. He looked at the sky
again. There was the moon coming right along with him.
“Dear moon,” said Owl, “you really must not come home with
me. My house is small. You would not fit through the
door. And I have nothing to give you for supper.”

Owl kept on walking. The moon sailed after him over the tops
of the trees. “Moon,” said Owl, “I think that you do not
hear me.” Owl climbed to the top of a hill. He shouted as
loudly as he could, “Good-bye, moon!”

The moon went behind some clouds. Owl looked and looked.
The moon was gone. “It is always a little sad to say
good-bye to a friend,” said Owl.

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Owl came home. He put on his pajamas and went to bed. The
room was very dark. Owl was still feeling sad. All at
once, Owl’s bedroom was filled with silver light. Owl looked
out of the window. The moon was coming from behind
the clouds. “Moon, you have followed me all the way home.
What a good, round friend you are!” said Owl.

Then Owl put his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. The

moon was shining down through the window. Owl did
not feel sad at all.

COPYRIGHT © 1975 BY ARNOLD LOBEL. Used by
permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

DePaola, Tomie. Pancakes for Breakfast. New York: Houghton
Mifflin, 1978. (1978)

This is a wordless book appropriate for kindergarten.

Arnold, Tedd. Hi! Fly Guy. New York: Scholastic, 2006. (2006)
From Chapter 1

A fly went flying.
He was looking for something to eat—something tasty,
something slimy.
A boy went walking
He was looking for something to catch—something smart,
something for The Amazing Pet Show.
They met.
The boy caught the fly in a jar.
“A pet!” He said.
The fly was mad.
He wanted to be free.
He stomped his foot and said—Buzz!
The boy was surprised.
He said, “You know my name! You are the smartest pet in the
world!”

From HI! FLY GUY by Tedd Arnold. Scholastic Inc./Cartwheel
Books. Copyright © 2005 by Tedd Arnold. Used by per-
mission.

Poetry

Anonymous. “As I Was Going to St. Ives.” The Oxford
Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes. Edited by Iona and Peter Opie.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997. (c1800, traditional)

As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives,
Each wife had seven sacks,
Each sack had seven cats,
Each cat had seven kits:
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,
How many were there going to St. Ives?

Rossetti, Christina. “Mix a Pancake.” Read-Aloud Rhymes for
the Very Young. Selected by Jack Prelutsky. Illustrated
by Marc Brown. New York: Knopf, 1986. (1893)

Mix a pancake,
Stir a pancake,
Pop it in the pan;
Fry the pancake,
Toss the pancake—
Catch it if you can.

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Fyleman, Rose. “Singing-Time.” Read-Aloud Rhymes for the
Very Young. Selected by Jack Prelutsky. Illustrated by
Marc Brown. New York: Knopf, 1986. (1919)

I wake in the morning early
And always, the very first thing,
I poke out my head and I sit up in bed
And I sing and I sing and I sing.

Milne, A. A. “Halfway Down.” When We Were Very Young.
Illustrated by Ernest H. Shepard. New York: Dutton, 1988.
(1924)

Chute, Marchette. “Drinking Fountain.” Read-Aloud Rhymes for
the Very Young. Selected by Jack Prelutsky.
Illustrated by Marc Brown. New York: Knopf, 1986. (1957)

When I climb up
To get a drink,
It doesn’t work
The way you’d think.

I turn it up,
The water goes
And hits me right
Upon the nose.

I turn it down
To make it small
And don’t get any

Drink at all.

From Around and About by Marchette Chute, published 1957 by
E.P. Dutton. Copyright renewed by Marchette Chute,
1985. Reprinted by permission of Elizabeth Hauser.

Hughes, Langston. “Poem.” The Collected Poems of Langston
Hughes. New York: Knopf, 1994. (1958)

Ciardi, John. “Wouldn’t You?” Read-Aloud Rhymes for the
Very Young. Selected by Jack Prelutsky. Illustrated by
Marc Brown. New York: Knopf, 1986. (1961)

If I
Could go
As high
And low
As the wind
As the wind
As the wind
Can blow—

I’d go!

COPYRIGHT © 1962 BY JOHN CIARDI. Used by permission
of HarperCollins Publishers.

Wright, Richard. “Laughing Boy.” Winter Poems. Selected by
Barbara Rogasky. Illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman.
New York: Scholastic, 1994. (1973) [Note: This poem was
originally titled “In the Falling Snow.”]

Greenfield, Eloise. “By Myself.” Honey, I Love, and Other
Love Poems. Illustrated by Leo and Diane Dillon. New York:
Crowell, 1978. (1978)

Giovanni, Nikki. “Covers.” The 20th Century Children’s Poetry
Treasury. Selected by Jack Prelutsky. Illustrated by
Meilo So. New York: Knopf, 1999. (1980)

Glass covers windows
to keep the cold away
Clouds cover the sky
to make a rainy day

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Nighttime covers
all the things that creep
Blankets cover me
when I’m asleep

COPYRIGHT © 1980 BY Nikki Giovanni. Used by permission.

Merriam, Eve. “It Fell in the City.” Read-Aloud Rhymes for the

Very Young. Selected by Jack Prelutsky. Illustrated by
Marc Brown. New York: Knopf, 1986. (1985)

Lopez, Alonzo. “Celebration.” Song and Dance. Selected by
Lee Bennett Hopkins. Illustrated by Cheryl Munro
Taylor. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997. (1993)

I shall dance tonight.
When the dusk comes crawling,
There will be dancing
and feasting.
I shall dance with the others
in circles,
in leaps,
in stomps.
Laughter and talk
Will weave into the night,
Among the fires
of my people.
Games will be played
And I shall be
a part of it.

From WHISPERING WIND by Terry Allen, copyright © 1972
by the Institute of American Indian Arts. Used by permis-
sion of Doubleday, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights
reserved. Any additional use of this text, such as for
classroom use or curriculum development, requires independent
permission from Random House, Inc.

Agee, Jon. “Two Tree Toads.” Orangutan Tongs. New York:
Hyperion, 2009. (2009)

A three-toed tree toad tried to tie
A two-toed tree toad’s shoe.
But tying two-toed shoes is hard

For three-toed toads to do,
Since three-toed shoes each have three toes,
And two-toed shoes have two.

“Please tie my two-toed tree toad shoe!”
The two-toed tree toad cried.
“I tried my best. Now I must go,”
The three-toed tree toad sighed.
The two-toed tree toad’s two-toed shoe,
Alas, remained untied.

From Jon Agee’s Orangutan Tongs © 2009 by Jon Agee.
Reprinted by Permission of Disney∙Hyperion, an imprint of
Disney Book Group LLC, All Rights Reserved.

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Read-Aloud Stories

Baum, L. Frank. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Illustrated by W.
W. Denslow. New York: HarperCollins, 2000. (1900)
From Chapter 1: “The Cyclone”

Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with
Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the
farmer’s wife. Their house was small, for the lumber to build it
had to be carried by wagon many miles. There were four
walls, a floor and a roof, which made one room; and this room
contained a rusty looking cookstove, a cupboard for the
dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds. Uncle Henry
and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner, and Dorothy a
little bed in another corner. There was no garret at all, and no
cellar—except a small hole dug in the ground, called a cy-
clone cellar, where the family could go in case one of those
great whirlwinds arose, mighty enough to crush any building
in its path. It was reached by a trap door in the middle of the
floor, from which a ladder led down into the small, dark hole.

When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she
could see nothing but the great gray prairie on every
side. Not a tree nor a house broke the broad sweep of flat
country that reached to the edge of the sky in all direc-
tions. The sun had baked the plowed land into a gray mass, with
little cracks running through it. Even the grass was
not green, for the sun had burned the tops of the long blades
until they were the same gray color to be seen every-
where. Once the house had been painted, but the sun blistered
the paint and the rains washed it away, and now the
house was as dull and gray as everything else.

When Aunt Em came there to live she was a young, pretty wife.
The sun and wind had changed her, too. They had
taken the sparkle from her eyes and left them a sober gray; they

had taken the red from her cheeks and lips, and
they were gray also. She was thin and gaunt, and never smiled
now. When Dorothy, who was an orphan, first came to
her, Aunt Em had been so startled by the child’s laughter that
she would scream and press her hand upon her heart
whenever Dorothy’s merry voice reached her ears; and she still
looked at the little girl with wonder that she could find
anything to laugh at.

Uncle Henry never laughed. He worked hard from morning till
night and did not know what joy was. He was gray also,
from his long beard to his rough boots, and he looked stern and
solemn, and rarely spoke.

It was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from
growing as gray as her other surroundings. Toto was not
gray; he was a little black dog, with long silky hair and small
black eyes that twinkled merrily on either side of his
funny, wee nose. Toto played all day long, and Dorothy played
with him, and loved him dearly.

Today, however, they were not playing. Uncle Henry sat upon
the doorstep and looked anxiously at the sky, which
was even grayer than usual. Dorothy stood in the door with Toto
in her arms, and looked at the sky too. Aunt Em was
washing the dishes.

Wilder, Laura Ingalls. Little House in the Big Woods.
Illustrated by Garth Williams. New York: HarperCollins, 2007.
(1932)
From “Two Big Bears”

The Story of Pa and the Bear in the Way

When I went to town yesterday with the furs I found it hard
walking in the soft snow. It took me a long time to get

to town, and other men with furs had come in earlier to do their
trading. The storekeeper was busy, and I had to wait
until he could look at my furs.

Then we had to bargain about the price of each one, and then I
had to pick out the things I wanted to take in trade.

So it was nearly sundown before I could start home.

I tried to hurry, but the walking was hard and I was tired, so I
had not gone far before night came. And I was alone in
the Big Woods without my gun.

There were still six miles to walk, and I came along as fast as I
could. The night grew darker and darker, and I wished
for my gun, because I knew that some of the bears had come out
of their winter dens. I had seen their tracks when I
went to town in the morning.

Bears are hungry and cross at this time of year; you know they
have been sleeping in their dens all winter long with
nothing to eat, and that makes them thin and angry when they
wake up. I did not want to meet one.

I hurried along as quick as I could in the dark. By and by the
stars gave a little light. It was still black as pitch where
the woods were thick, but in the open places I could see, dimly.
I could see the snowy road ahead a little way, and I
could see the dark woods standing all around me. I was glad
when I came into an open place where the stars gave me
this faint light.

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All the time I was watching, as well as I could, for bears. I was
listening for the sounds they make when they go care-
lessly through the bushes.

Then I came again into an open place, and there, right in the
middle of my road, I saw a big black bear.

Atwater, Richard and Florence. Mr. Popper’s Penguins.
Illustrated by Robert Lawson. New York: Little, Brown, 1988.
(1938)
From Chapter 1: “Stillwater”

It was an afternoon in late September. In the pleasant little city
of Stillwater, Mr. Popper, the house painter was going
home from work.

He was carrying his buckets, his ladders, and his boards so that
he had rather a hard time moving along. He was spat-
tered here and there with paint and calcimine, and there were

bits of wallpaper clinging to his hair and whiskers, for
he was rather an untidy man.

The children looked up from their play to smile at him as he
passed, and the housewives, seeing him, said, “Oh dear,
there goes Mr. Popper. I must remember to ask John to have the
house painted over in the spring.”

No one knew what went on inside of Mr.Popper’s head, and no
one guessed that he would one day be the most fa-
mous person in Stillwater.

He was a dreamer. Even when he was busiest smoothing down
the paste on the wallpaper, or painting the outside of
other people’s houses, he would forget what he was doing. Once
he had painted three sides of a kitchen green, and
the other side yellow. The housewife, instead of being angry
and making him do it over, had liked it so well that she
had made him leave it that way. And all the other housewives,
when they saw it, admired it too, so that pretty soon
everybody in Stillwater had two-colored kitchens.

The reason Mr. Popper was so absent-minded was that he was
always dreaming about far-away countries. He had
never been out of Stillwater. Not that he was unhappy. He had a
nice little house of his own, a wife whom he loved
dearly, and two children, named Janie and Bill. Still, it would
have been nice, he often thought, if he could have seen
something of the world before he met Mrs. Popper and settled
down. He had never hunted tigers in India, or climbed
the peaks of the Himalayas, or dived for pearls in the South
Seas. Above all, he had never seen the Poles.

Jansson, Tove. Finn Family Moomintroll. Translated by
Elizabeth Portch. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1990.
(1948)

From “Preface”

One grey morning the first snow began to fall in the Valley of
the Moomins. It fell softly and quietly, and in a few hours
everything was white.

Moomintroll stood on his doorstep and watched the valley
nestle beneath its winter blanket. “Tonight,” he thought,
“we shall settle down for our long winter’s sleep.” (All
Moomintrolls go to sleep about November. This is a good idea,
too if you don’t like the cold and the long winter darkness.)
Shutting the door behind him, Moomintroll stole in to his
mother and said:

“The snow has come!”

“I know,” said Moominmamma. “I have already made up all
your beds with the warmest blankets. You’re to sleep in the
little room under the eaves with Sniff.”

“But Sniff snores so horribly,” said Moomintroll. “Couldn’t I
sleep with Snufkin instead?”

“As you like, dear,” said Moominmamma. “Sniff can sleep in
the room that faces east.”

So the Moomin family, their friends, and all their acquaintances
began solemnly and with great ceremony to prepare
for the long winter. Moominmamma laid the table for them on
the verandah but they only had pine-needles for sup-
per. (It’s important to have your tummy full of pine if you
intend to sleep all the winter.) When the meal was over,
and I’m afraid it didn’t taste very nice, they all said good-night
to each other, rather more cheerfully than usual, and
Moominmamma encouraged them to clean their teeth.

Haley, Gail E. A Story, A Story. New York: Atheneum, 1970.
(1970)

Once, oh small children round my knee, there were no stories on
earth to hear. All the stories belonged to Nyame, the

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Sky God. He kept them in a golden box next to his royal stool.

Ananse, the Spider Man, wanted to buy the Sky God’s stories.
So he spun a web up to the sky.

When the Sky God heard what Ananse wanted, he laughed:
“Twe, twe, twe. The price of my stories is that you bring
me Osebo the leopard of-the-terrible-teeth, Mmboro the hornet
who-stings-like-fire, and Mmoatia the fairy whom-

men-never-see.”

Ananse bowed and answered: “I shall gladly pay the price.”

“Twe, twe, twe,” chuckled the Sky God. “How can a weak old
man like you, so small, so small, so small, pay my price?”

But Ananse merely climbed down to earth to find the things that
the Sky God demanded.

Ananse ran along the jungle path – yiridi, yiridi, yiridi – till he
came to Osebo the leopard-of-the-terrible-teeth.

“Oho, Ananse,” said the leopard, “you are just in time to be my
lunch.”

Ananse replied: “As for that, what will happen will happen. But
first let us play the binding binding game.”

The leopard, who was fond of games, asked: “How is it
played?”

“With vine creepers,” explained Ananse. “I will bind you by
your foot and foot. Then I will untie you, and you can tie
me up.”

“Very well,” growled the leopard, who planned to eat Ananse as
soon as it was his turn to bind him.

So Ananse tied the leopard

by his foot

by his foot

by his foot

by his foot, with the vine creeper.

Then he said: “Now, Osebo, you are ready to meet the Sky
God.” And he hung the tied leopard in a tree in the jungle.

Reprinted with the permission of Atheneum Books for Young
Readers, an imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Pub-
lishing Division from A STORY, A STORY by Gail E. Haley.
Copyright © 1970 by Gail E. Haley.

Bang, Molly. The Paper Crane. New York: Greenwillow, 1987.
(1985)

A man once owned a restaurant on a busy road. He loved to
cook good food and he loved to serve it. He worked
from morning until night, and he was happy.

But a new highway was built close by. Travelers drove straight
from one place to another and no longer stopped at
the restaurant. Many days went by when no guests came at all.
The man became very poor, and had nothing to do
but dust and polish his empty plates and tables.

One evening a stranger came into the restaurant. His clothes
were old and worn, but he had an unusual, gentle man-
ner.

Though he said he had not money to pay for food, the owner
invited him to sit down. He cooked the best meal he
could make and served him like a king. When the stranger had
finished, he said to his host, “I cannot pay you with
money, but I would like to thank you in my own way.”

He picked up a paper napkin from the table and folded it into
the shape of a crane. “You have only to clap your

hands,” he said, “and this bird will come to life and dance for
you. Take it, and enjoy it while it is with you.” With
these words the stranger left.

It happened just as the stranger had said. The owner had only
to clap his hands and the paper crane became a living
bird, flew down to the floor, and danced.

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Soon word of the dancing crane spread, and people came from
far and near to see the magic bird perform.

The owner was happy again, for his restaurant was always full
of guests. He cooked and served and had company
from morning until night.

The weeks passed. And the months.

One evening a man came into the restaurant. His clothes were
old and worn, but had an unusual, gentle manner. The
owner knew him at once and was overjoyed.

The stranger, however, said nothing. He took a flute from his
pocket, raised it to his lips, and began to play.

The crane flew down from its place on the shelf and danced as it
had never danced before.

The stranger finished playing, lowered the flute from his lips,
and returned it to his pocket. He climbed on the back of
the crane, and they flew out of the door and away.

The restaurant still stands by the side of the road, and guests
still come to eat the good food and hear the story of
the gentle stranger and the magic crane made from a paper
napkin. But neither the stranger nor the dancing crane
has ever been seen again.

TEXT COPYRIGHT © 1985 BY MOLLY BANG. USED WITH
PERMISSION OF GREENWILLOW BOOKS.

Young, Ed. Lon Po Po: A Red-Riding Hood Story from China.
New York: Putnam, 1989. (1989)

“Po Po,” Shang shouted, but there was no answer.

“Po Po,” Tao shouted, but there was no answer.

“Po Po,” Paotze shouted. There was still no answer. The
children climbed to the branches just above the wolf and saw
that he was truly dead. Then they climbed down, went into the
house, closed the door, locked the door with the latch

and fell peacefully asleep.

On the next day their mother returned with baskets of food from
their real Po Po, and the three sisters told her the
story of the Po Po who had come.

Copyright © 1989 Ed Young. Reprinted with permission of
McIntosh & Otis, Inc.

Garza, Carmen Lomas. Family Pictures. San Francisco:
Children’s Book Press, 1990. (1990)
From “The Fair in Reynosa”

My friends and I once went to a very big fair across the border
in Reynosa, Mexico. The fair lasted a whole week.
Artisans and entertainers came from all over Mexico. There
were lots of booths with food and crafts. This is one little
section where everybody is ordering and eating tacos.

I painted a father buying tacos and the rest of the family sitting
down at the table. The little girl is the father’s favorite
and that’s why she gets to tag along with him. I can always
recognize little girls who are their fathers’ favorites.

From “Birthday Party”

That’s me hitting the piñata at my sixth birthday party. It was
also my brother’s fourth birthday. My mother made a
big birthday party for us and invited all kinds of friends,
cousins and neighborhood kids.

You can’t see the piñata when you’re trying to hit it, because
your eyes are covered with a handkerchief. My father
is pulling the rope that makes the piñata go up and down. He
will make sure that everybody has a chance to hit it at
least once. Somebody will end up breaking it, and that’s when

all the candies will fall out and all the kids will run and
try to grab them.

Reprinted with permission of the publisher, Children’s Book
Press. Excerpts from Family Pictures/Cuadros de Familia
(© 1990, 2005) by Carmen Lomas Garza. All rights reserved.

Mora, Pat. Tomás and the Library Lady. Illustrated by Raúl
Colón. New York: Knopf, 1997. (1997)

When they got hot, they sat under a tree with Papá Grande.
“Tell us the story about the man in the forest,” said
Tomás.

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Tomás liked to listen to Papá Grande tell stories in Spanish.

Papá Grande was the best storyteller in the family.

“En un tiempo pasado,” Papá Grande began. “Once upon a
time…on a windy night a man was riding a horse through a
forest. The wind was howling, whoooooooo, and the leaves were
blowing, whish, whish…

“All of a sudden something grabbed the man. He couldn’t move.
He was too scared to look around. All night long he
wanted to ride away. But he couldn’t.

“How the wind howled, whoooooooo. How the leaves blew.
How his teeth chattered!

“Finally the sun came up. Slowly the man turned around. And
who do you think was holding him?

Tomás smiled and said, “A thorny tree.”

Papá Grande laughed. “Tomás, you know all my stories,” he
said. “There are many more in the library. You are big
enough to go by yourself. Then you can teach us new stories.”

The next morning Tomás walked downtown. He looked at the
big library. Its tall windows were like eyes glaring at him.
Tomás walked all around the big building. He saw children
coming out carrying books. Slowly he started climbing up,
up the steps. He counted them to himself in Spanish. Uno, dos,
tres, cuatro…His mouth felt full of cotton.

Tomás stood in front of the library doors. He pressed his nose
against the glass and peeked in. The library was huge!

From TOMÁS AND THE LIBRARY LADY by Pat Mora,
copyright © 1997 by Pat Mora, illustrations copyright © 1997
by

Raúl Colón. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint
of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Ran-
dom House, Inc. All rights reserved. Any additional use of this
text, such as for classroom use or curriculum develop-
ment, requires independent permission from Random House,
Inc.

Henkes, Kevin. Kitten’s First Full Moon. New York:
Greenwillow, 2004. (2004)

It was Kitten’s first full moon.
When she saw it, she thought.
There’s a little bowl of milk in the sky.
And she wanted it.

So she closed her eyes
and stretched her neck
and opened her mouth and licked.

But Kitten only ended up
with a bug on her tongue.
Poor Kitten!

Still, there was the little bowl of milk, just waiting.

So she pulled herself together
and wiggled her bottom
and sprang from the top step of the porch.

But Kitten only tumbled—
bumping her nose and banging her ear
and pinching her tail.
Poor Kitten!

Still, there was the little bowl of milk, just waiting.

So she chased it—
down the sidewalk,
through the garden,
past the field,
and by the pond.
But Kitten never seemed to get closer.
Poor Kitten!

Still, there was the little bowl of milk, just waiting.

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So she ran
to the tallest tree
she could find,
and she climbed
and climbed

and climbed
to the very top.

But Kitten
still couldn’t reach
the bowl of milk,
and now she was
scared.
Poor Kitten!
What could she do?

Then, in the pond, Kitten saw
another bowl of milk.
And it was bigger.
What a night!

So she raced down the tree
and raced through the grass

and raced to the edge of the pond.
She leaped with all her might—

Poor Kitten!
She was wet and sad and tired
and hungry.

So she went
back home—

and there was
a great big
bowl of milk
on the porch,

just waiting for her.

Lucky Kitten!
COPYRIGHT © 2004 BY KEVIN HENKES. Used by
permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Read-Aloud Poetry

Anonymous. “The Fox’s Foray.” The Oxford Nursery Rhyme
Book. Edited by Peter and Iona Opie. Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1955. (c1800, traditional)

A fox jumped out one winter’s night,
And begged the moon to give him light.
For he’d many miles to trot that night
Before he reached his den O!
Den O! Den O!
For he’d many miles to trot that night before he reached his den
O!

The first place he came to was a farmer’s yard,
Where the ducks and the geese declared it hard
That their nerves should be shaken and their rest so marred
By a visit from Mr. Fox O!
Fox O! Fox O!

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That their nerves should be shaken and their rest so marred
By a visit from Mr. Fox O!

He took the grey goose by the neck,
And swung him right across his back;
The grey goose cried out, Quack, quack, quack,
With his legs hanging dangling down O!
Down O! Down O!
The grey goose cried out, Quack, quack, quack,
With his legs hanging dangling down O!

Old Mother Slipper Slopper jumped out of bed,
And out of the window she popped her head:
Oh, John, John, the grey goose is gone,
And the fox is off to his den O!
Den O! Den O!
Oh, John, John, the grey goose is gone,
And the fox is off to his den O!

John ran up to the top of the hill.
And blew his whistle loud and shrill;
Said the fox, That is very pretty music still –
I’d rather be in my den O!
Den O! Den O!
Said the fox, That is very pretty music still –
I’d rather be in my den O!

The fox went back to his hungry den,
And his dear little foxes, eight, nine, ten;
Quoth they, Good daddy, you must go there again,
If you bring such god cheer from the farm O!
Farm O! Farm O!
Quoth they, Good daddy, you must go there again,
If you bring such god cheer from the farm O!

The fox and his wife, without any strife,
Said they never ate a better goose in all their life:
They did very well without fork or knife,
And the little ones chewed on the bones O!
Bones O! Bones O!
They did very well without fork or knife,
And the little ones chewed on the bones O!

Langstaff, John. Over in the Meadow. Illustrated by Feodor
Rojankovsky. Orlando: Houghton Mifflin, 1973. (c1800,
traditional)

Over in the meadow in a new little hive
Lived an old mother queen bee and her honeybees five.
“Hum,” said the mother,
“We hum,” said the five;
So they hummed and were glad in their new little hive.

Over in the meadow in a dam built of sticks
Lived an old mother beaver and her little beavers six.
“Build,” said the mother,
“We build,” said the six;
So they built and were glad in the dam built of sticks.

Over in the meadow in the green wet bogs
Lived an old mother froggie and her seven polliwogs.
“Swim,” said the mother.
“We swim,” said the ‘wogs;

So they swam and were glad in the green wet bogs.

Over in the meadow as the day grew late
Lived an old mother owl and her little owls eight.

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“Wink,” said the mother,
“We wink,” said the eight;
So they winked and were glad as the day grew late.

Excerpt from OVER IN THE MEADOW by John Langstaff.
Text and music copyright © 1957, and renewed 1985 by John
Langstaff. Used by Permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Publishing Company. All rights reserved.

Lear, Edward. “The Owl and the Pussycat.” (1871)

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
‘O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy are!’

Pussy said to the Owl, ‘You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! Too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?’
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

‘Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?’ Said the Piggy, ‘I will.’
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

Hughes, Langston. “April Rain Song.” The 20th Century
Children’s Poetry Treasury. Selected by Jack Prelutsky.
Illustrated by Meilo So. New York: Knopf, 1999. (1932)

Moss, Lloyd. Zin! Zin! Zin! a Violin. Illustrated by Marjorie
Priceman. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000. (1995)

With mournful moan and silken tone,
Itself alone comes ONE TROMBONE.
Gliding, sliding, high notes go low;
ONE TROMBONE is playing SOLO.

Next a TRUMPET comes along,
And sings and stings its swinging song.
It joins TROMBONE, no more alone,
And ONE and TWO-O, they’re a DUO.

The STRINGS all soar, the REEDS implore,
The BRASSES roar with notes galore.
It’s music that we all adore.

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It’s what we go to concerts for.

The minutes fly, the music ends,
And so, good-bye to our new friends.
But when they’ve bowed and left the floor,
If we clap loud and shout, “Encore!”
They may come out and play once more.

And that would give us great delight
Before we say a late good night.
Reprinted with the permission of Simon & Schuster Books for
Young Readers, an imprint of Simon & Schuster Chil-
dren’s Publishing Division from ZIN! ZIN! ZIN! A VIOLIN by
Lloyd Moss. Text Copyright © 1995 Lloyd Moss.

Sample Performance Tasks for Stories and Poetry

• Students (with prompting and support from the teacher)
describe the relationship between key events of the
overall story of Little Bear by Else Holmelund Minarik to the
corresponding scenes illustrated by Maurice Sen-
dak. [RL.K.7]

• Students retell Arnold Lobel’s Frog and Toad Together
while demonstrating their understanding of a central
message or lesson of the story (e.g., how friends are able to
solve problems together or how hard work pays
off). [RL.1.2]

• Students (with prompting and support from the teacher)
compare and contrast the adventures and experi-
ences of the owl in Arnold Lobel’s Owl at Home to those of the
owl in Edward Lear’s poem “The Owl and the
Pussycat.” [RL.K.9]

• Students read two texts on the topic of pancakes (Tomie
DePaola’s Pancakes for Breakfast and Christina
Rossetti’s “Mix a Pancake”) and distinguish between the text
that is a storybook and the text that is a poem.
[RL.K.5]

• After listening to L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard
of Oz, students describe the characters of Dorothy,
Auntie Em, and Uncle Henry, the setting of Kansan prairie, and
major events such as the arrival of the cyclone.
[RL.1.3]

• Students (with prompting and support from the teacher)
when listening to Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House
in the Big Woods ask questions about the events that occur
(such as the encounter with the bear) and answer
by offering key details drawn from the text. [RL.1.1]

• Students identify the points at which different characters
are telling the story in the Finn Family Moomintroll by
Tove Jansson. [RL.1.6]

• Students identify words and phrases within Molly Bang’s
The Paper Crane that appeal to the senses and
suggest the feelings of happiness experienced by the owner of
the restaurant (e.g., clapped, played, loved,
overjoyed). [RL.1.4]

Informational Texts

Bulla, Clyde Robert. A Tree Is a Plant. Illustrated by Stacey
Schuett. New York: HarperCollins, 2001. (1960)

A tree is a plant. A tree is the biggest plant that grows. Most
kinds of trees grow from seeds the way most small
plants do. There are many kinds of trees. Here are a few of
them. How many do you know? [illustration is labeled
with Maple, Conifer, Persimmon, Palms, Lemon, Willow]

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This tree grows in the country. It might grow in your yard, too.
Do you know what kind it is? This is an apple tree.

This apple tree came from a seed. The seed was small. It grew
inside an apple. Have you ever seen an apple seed?
Ask an adult to help you cut an apple in two. The seeds are in

the center. They look like this.

Most apple trees come from seeds that are planted. Sometimes
an apple tree grows from a seed that falls to the
ground. The wind blows leaves over the seed. The wind blows
soil over the seed.

All winter the seed lies under the leaves and the soil. All
winter the seed lies under the ice and snow and is pushed
into the ground. Spring comes. Rain falls. The sun comes out
and warms the earth. The seed begins to grow.

At first the young plant does not look like a tree. The tree is
very small. It is only a stem with two leaves. It has no ap-
ples on it. A tree must grow up before it has apples on it. Each
year the tree grows. It grows tall. In seven years it is so
tall that you can stand under its branches. In the spring there
are blossoms on the tree. Spring is apple-blossom time.

[…]

We cannot see the roots. They are under the ground. Some of
the roots are large. Some of them are as small as
hairs. The roots grow like branches under the ground. A tree
could not live without roots.

Roots hold the trunk in the ground. Roots keep the tree from
falling when the wind blows. Roots keep the rain from
washing the tree out of the ground.

Roots do something more. They take water from the ground.
They carry the water into the trunk of the tree. The
trunk carries the water to the branches. The branches carry the
water to the leaves.

Hundreds and hundreds of leaves grow on the branches. The

leaves make food from water and air. They make food
when the sun shines. The food goes into the branches. It goes
into the trunk and roots. It goes to every part of the
tree.

Fall comes and winter is near. The work of the leaves is over.
The leaves turn yellow and brown. The leaves die and
fall to the ground.

Now the tree is bare. All winter it looks dead. But the tree is
not dead. Under its coat of bark, the tree is alive.

TEXT COPYRIGHT © 1981 BY CLYDE ROBERT BULLA.
Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Aliki. My Five Senses. New York: HarperCollins, 1989. (1962)

I can see! I see with my eyes.

I can hear! I hear with my ears.

I can smell! I smell with my nose.

I can taste! I taste with my tongue.

I can touch! I touch with my fingers.

I do all this with my senses.
I have five senses.

When I see the sun or a frog or my baby sister, I use my sense
of sight. I am seeing.

When I hear a drum or a fire engine or a bird, I use my sense of
hearing. I am hearing.

When I smell soap or a pine tree or cookies just out of the oven,
I use my sense of smell. I am smelling.

When I drink my milk and eat my food, I use my sense of taste.
I am tasting.

When I touch a kitten or a balloon or water, I use my sense of
touch. I am touching.

Sometimes I use all my senses at once.
Sometimes I use only one.
I often play a game with myself.
I guess how many senses I am using at that time.

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When I look at the moon and the stars, I use one sense. I am

seeing.

When I laugh and play with my puppy, I use four senses. I see,
hear, smell, and touch.

When I bounce a ball, I use three senses. I see, hear, touch.

Sometimes I use more of one sense and less of another.

But each sense is very important to me, because it makes me
aware.

To be aware is to see all there is to see…
hear all there is to hear…
smell all there is to smell…
taste all there is to taste…
touch all there is to touch.

Wherever I go, whatever I do, every minute of the day, my
senses are working.
They make me aware.

COPYRIGHT © 1962, 1989 BY ALIKI BRANDENBERG. Used
by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Hurd, Edith Thacher. Starfish. Illustrated by Robin Brickman.
New York: HarperCollins, 2000. (1962)

Starfish live in the sea. Starfish live deep down in the sea.
Starfish live in pools by the sea.

Some starfish are purple. Some starfish are pink.

This is the sunflower starfish. It is the biggest of all. Starfish
have many arms. The arms are called rays. Starfish have
arms, but no legs.

Starfish have feet, but no toes. They glide and slide on tiny
tube feet. They move as slowly as a snail.

The basket star looks like a starfish, but it is a little different.
It doesn’t have tube feet. It moves with its rays. It has
rays that go up and rays that go down.

Tiny brittle stars are like the basket star. They hide under rocks
in pools by the sea.

The mud star hides in the mud. It is a starfish. It has tiny tube
feet.

A starfish has no eyes. A starfish has no ears or nose. Its tiny
mouth is on its underside. When a starfish is hungry, it
slides and it glides on its tiny tube feet.

It hunts for mussels and oysters and clams. It feels for the
mussels, It feels for the oysters. It feels for the clams. It
feels for something to eat.

The starfish crawls over a clam. Its rays go over it. Its rays go
under it. Its rays go all over the clam. The starfish pulls
and pulls. It pulls the shells open. It eats the clam inside.

Sometimes a starfish loses a ray. A crab may pull it off. A
rock may fall on it. But this does not hurt. It does not
bother the starfish. The starfish just grows another ray.

In the spring when the sun shines warm, and the sea grows
warm, starfish lay eggs. Starfish lay eggs in the water.
They lay many, many, many tiny eggs. The eggs look like sand
in the sea. The tiny eggs float in the water. They float
up and down. They move with the waves and the tide, up and
down, up and down.

Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Aliki. A Weed is a Flower: The Life of George Washington
Carver. New York: Prentice Hall, 1965. (1965)

Crews, Donald. Truck. New York: HarperCollins, 1980. (1980)

This is a largely wordless book appropriate for kindergarten.

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Hoban, Tana. I Read Signs. New York: HarperCollins, 1987
(1987)

This is a largely wordless book appropriate for kindergarten.

Reid, Mary Ebeltoft. Let’s Find Out About Ice Cream.
Photographs by John Williams. New York: Scholastic, 1996.
(1996)

“Garden Helpers.” National Geographic Young Explorers
September 2009. (2009)

Not all bugs and worms are pests.
Some help your garden grow.

Earthworms make soil rich and healthy.
This helps plants grow strong!

A ladybug eats small bugs.
The bugs can’t eat the plants.
This keeps your garden safe.

A praying mantis eats any bug it can catch.
Not many bugs can get past this quick hunter!

This spider catches bugs in its sticky web.
It keeps bugs away from your garden.

Copyright © 2009 National Geographic. Used by permission.

“Wind Power.” National Geographic Young Explorers
November/December 2009. (2009)

Wind is air on the move.
See what wind can do.

Wind can whip up some fun!

Wind starts with the sun.
The sun warms land and water.
The air above warms up too.

Warm air rises.
Cooler air rushes in.
That moving air is wind.

Wind is energy.
It can push a sailboat.

Look at the windmills spin!
They turn wind energy into electricity.
What else can wind do?

Copyright © 2009 National Geographic. Used by permission.

Read-Aloud Informational Texts

Provensen, Alice and Martin. The Year at Maple Hill Farm.
New York: Simon & Schuster, 2001. (1978)

Gibbons, Gail. Fire! Fire! New York: HarperCollins, 1987.
(1984)
From “Fire! Fire! In the city…”

In an apartment house, a breeze has blown a towel up into the
flame of a hot stove. A fire begins. The smoke alarm
screams.

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A phone call alerts the fire-dispatch center. Instantly, a
dispatcher calls the firehouse nearest the fire.

A loudspeaker blares out the address of the fire, and the
firefighters go into action. They slide down brass poles to
the ground floor, where the fire engines are, and hurry into their
fire-fighting gear. Then they take their positions on
their engines.

The big trucks roar out of the firehouse. Sirens scream and
lights flash.

The fire engines arrive at the scene. The fire is bigger now.
The fire chief is in charge. He decides the best way to
fight this fire.

Hoses are pulled from the trucks. Each separate fire truck is
called a “company.” Each separate company has an of-
ficer in charge. The fire chief tells each officer in charge what
he wants the firefighters to do.

Firefighters are ordered to search the building to make sure no
one is still inside. A man is trapped. A ladder tower is
swung into action. The man is rescued quickly.

At the same time, an aerial ladder is taking other firefighters to
the floor above the fire. Inside, the firefighters attach
a hose to the building’s standpipe. Water is sprayed onto the
fire to keep it from moving up through the apartment
house.

Now the aerial ladder is swung over to the roof of the burning
building. Firefighters break holes in the roof and win-
dows to let out poisonous gases, heat, and smoke before they
can cause a bad explosion. There’s less danger now for
the firefighters working inside the building.

Firefighters are battling the blaze from the outside of the
building, too. Fire hoses carry water from the fire hydrants
to the trucks.

Pumps in the fire trucks control the water pressure and push the
water up through the discharge hoses. Streams of
water hit the burning building and buildings next door to keep
the fire from spreading.

The fire is under control.

The fire is out. The firefighters clean up the rubble. Back at
the firehouse, they clean their equipment and make an
official report on the fire.

COPYRIGHT © 1984 BY GAIL GIBBONS. Used by permission
of HarperCollins Publishers.

Dorros, Arthur. Follow the Water from Brook to Ocean. New
York: HarperCollins, 1993. (1991)

After the next big rain storm, put your boots on and go outside.
Look at the water dripping from your roof. Watch it

gush out of the drainpipes. You can see water flowing down
your street too.

Water is always flowing. It trickles in the brook near your
house.

Sometimes you see water rushing along in a stream or in a big
river.

Water always flows downhill. It flows from high places to low
places, just the way you and your skateboard move
down a hill.

Sometimes water collects in a low spot in the land – a puddle, a
pond, or a lake. The water’s downhill journey may
end there. Most of the time, though, the water will find a way
to keep flowing downhill. Because water flows down-
hill, it will keep flowing until it can’t go any lower. The lowest
parts of the earth are the oceans. Water will keep flow-
ing until it reaches an ocean.

Where does the water start? Where does the water in a brook or
a stream or a river come from? The water comes
from rain. And it comes from melting snow. The water from
rain and melting snow runs over the ground. Some of it
soaks into the ground, and some water is soaked up by trees and
other plants. But a lot of the water keeps traveling
over the ground, flowing downhill.

The water runs along, flowing over the ground. Trickles of
water flow together to form a brook. A brook isn’t very
deep or wide. You could easily step across a brook to get to the
other side.

The brook flows over small stones covered with algae. Algae
are tiny plants. They can be green, red, or brown.

Green algae make the water look green. Plop! A frog jumps
into the brook. A salamander wiggles through leafy

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water plants. Slap! A trout’s tail hits the water. Lots of
creatures live in the moving water.

COPYRIGHT © 1991 BY ARTHUR DORROS. Used by
permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Rauzon, Mark, and Cynthia Overbeck Bix. Water, Water
Everywhere. San Francisco: Sierra Club, 1994. (1994)

Llewellyn, Claire. Earthworms. New York: Franklin Watts,
2002. (2002)

Jenkins, Steve, and Robin Page. What Do You Do With a Tail
Like This? Orlando: Houghton Mifflin, 2003. (2003)

What do you do with a nose like this?
If you’re a platypus, you use your nose to dig in the mud.
If you’re a hyena, you find your next meal with your nose.
If you’re an elephant, you use your nose to give yourself a bath.
If you’re a mole, you use your nose to find your way
underground.
If you’re an alligator, you breathe through your nose while
hiding in the water.
What do you do with ears like these?
If you’re a jackrabbit, you use your ears to keep cool.
If you’re a bat you “see” with your ears.
If you’re a cricket, you hear with ears that are on your knees.
If you’re a humpback whale, you hear sounds hundreds of miles
away.
If you’re a hippopotamus, you close your ears when you’re
under water.
What do you do with a tail like this?
If you’re a giraffe, you brush off pesky flies with your tail.
If you’re a skunk, you lift your tail to warn that a stinky spray
is on the way.
If you’re a lizard, you break off your tail to get away.
If you’re a scorpion, your tail can give a nasty sting.
If you’re a monkey, you hang from a tree by your tail.
What do you do with eyes like these?
If you’re an eagle, you spot tiny animals from high in the air.
If you’re a chameleon, you look two ways at once.
If you’re a four-eye fish, you look above and below the water at
the same time.
If you’re a bush baby, you use your large eyes to see clearly at
night.
If you’re a horned lizard, you squirt blood out of your eyes.
What do you do with feet like these?
If you’re a chimpanzee, you feed yourself with your feet.

If you’re a water strider, you walk on water.
If you’re a blue-footed booby, you do a dance.
If you’re a gecko, you use your sticky feet to walk on the
ceiling.
If you’re a mountain goat, you leap from ledge to ledge.
What do you do with a mouth like this?
If you’re a pelican, you use your mouth as a net to scoop up
fish.
If you’re an egg-eating snake, you use your mouth to swallow
eggs larger than your head.
If you’re a mosquito, you use your mouth to suck blood.
If you’re an anteater, you capture termites with your long
tongue.
If you’re an archerfish, you catch insects by shooting them
down with a stream of water.

Excerpted from WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A TAIL LIKE
THIS? By Steve Jenkins and Robin Page. Copyright © 2003
by Steve Jenkins and Robin Page. Used by Permission of
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights
reserved.

Pfeffer, Wendy. From Seed to Pumpkin. Illustrated by James
Graham Hale. New York: HarperCollins, 2004. (2004)

When spring winds warm the earth, a farmer plants hundreds of
pumpkin seeds.

Every pumpkin seed can become a baby pumpkin plant.
Underground, covered with dark, moist soil, the baby plants
begin to grow.

As the plants get bigger, the seeds crack open. Stems sprout up.
Roots dig down. Inside the roots are tubes. Water
travels up these tubes the way juice goes up a straw.

In less than two weeks from planting time, green shoots poke up
through the earth.

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These shoots grow into tiny seedlings. Two leaves, called seed
leaves, uncurl on each stem. They reach up toward
the sun.

Sunlight gives these leaves energy to make food. Like us,
plants need food to grow. But green plants do not eat food
as we do. Their leaves make it.

To make food, plants need light, water, and air. Leaves catch
the sunlight. Roots soak up rainwater. And little open-
ings in the leaves let air in. Using energy from the sun, the
leaves mix the air with water from the soil to make sugar.

This feeds the plant.

Soon broad, prickly leaves with jagged edges unfold on the
stems.

The seed leaves dry up. Now the new leaves make food for the
pumpkin plant.

Each pumpkin stem has many sets of tubes. One tube in each
set takes water from the soil up to the leaves so they
can make sugar. The other tube in each set sends food back
down so the pumpkin can grow.

The days grow warmer. The farmer tends the pumpkin patch to
keep weeds out. Weeds take water from the soil.
Pumpkin plants need that water to grow.

Text copyright © 2004 by Wendy Pfeffer. Used by permission
of HarperCollins Publishers.

Thomson, Sarah L. Amazing Whales! New York: HarperCollins,
2006. (2005)

A blue whale is as long as a basketball court. Its eyes are as big
as softballs. Its tongue weighs as much as an el-
ephant.

It is the biggest animal that has ever lived on Earth – bigger
than any dinosaur.

But not all whales are this big. A killer whale is about as long
as a fire truck. Dolphins and porpoises are whales too,
very small whales. The smallest dolphin is only five feet long.
That’s probably shorter than your mom.

There are about 80 kinds of whales. All of them are mammals.

Dogs and monkeys and people are mammals, too.
They are warm-blooded. This means that their blood stays at
the same temperature even if the air or water around
them gets hot or cold.

Mammal babies drink milk from their mothers. Whale babies
are called calves.

And mammals breathe air. A whale must swim to the ocean’s
surface to breathe or it will drown. After a whale calf is
born, its mother may lift it up for its first breath of air.

A whale uses its blowholes to breathe. It can have one
blowhole or two. The blowholes are on the top of its head.
When a whale breathes out, the warm breath makes a cloud
called a blow. Then the whale breathes in. Its blowholes
squeeze shut. The whale dives under the water. It holds its
breath until it comes back up.

When sperm whales hunt, they dive deeper than any other
whale. They can hold their breath for longer than an hour
and dive down more than a mile.

Deep in the ocean, where the water is dark and cold, sperm
whales hunt for giant squid and other animals.

Some whales, like sperm whales, have teeth to catch their food.
They are called toothed whales. Other whales have
no teeth. They are called baleen whales. (Say it like this: bay-
LEEN.) Blue whales and humpback whales are baleen
whales. They have strips of baleen in their mouths. Baleen is
made of the same stuff as your fingernails. It is strong
but it can bend.

A baleen whale fills its mouth with water. In the water there
might be fish or krill. Krill are tiny animals like shrimp.

The whale closes its mouth. The water flows back out between
the strips of baleen.

The fish or krill are trapped inside its mouth for the whale to
eat.

Some whales, like killer whales, hunt in groups to catch their
food. These groups are called pods. A whale mother
and her children, and even her grandchildren sometimes live in
one pod.

Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

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Hodgkins, Fran, and True Kelley. How People Learned to Fly.
New York: HarperCollins, 2007. (2007)

When you see a bird flying, do you dream about flying too?

Do you run with your arms out, imagining that you’re soaring
among the clouds? Do you make paper airplanes? Do
you fly kites?

If you do, you aren’t alone. For thousands of years, people have
dreamed of being able to fly.

They watched birds and bats soar.

They imagined people and other animals that could fly and told
stories about them.

They designed machines that they thought would be able to fly.

They had many ideas. As they tried each new idea, they learned
a lot.

They learned about gravity. Gravity is the force that keeps
everything on the Earth’s surface. Because of gravity,
things have weight.

If there were no gravity, people, dogs, cats, and everything else
would go floating off into space. Gravity keeps us on
the ground, even if we would rather be flying.

People also learned about air. Air is made of tiny particles
called molecules. When you walk or run, you push through
air molecules. They push back on you, too, even though you
don’t really feel the push unless the wind blows.

People learned that wind could push a kite into the sky.

When air molecules push back on a moving object, that is a

force called drag. You can feel drag for yourself. Hold
out your arms. Now spin around. Feel the push of air on your
arms and hands? That’s drag. Like gravity, drag works
against objects that are trying to fly.

Kites were useful and fun, but people wanted more. They
wanted to fly like birds.

Birds had something that kites didn’t: Birds had wings.

People made wings and strapped them to their arms. They
flapped their arms but couldn’t fly.

They built gliders, light aircraft with wings. Some didn’t work,
but some did.

The gliders that worked best had special wings. These wings
were arched on both the top and the bottom. The air
pulled the wings from above and pushed the wings from below.
When the wings went up, so did the glider! Arched
wings help create a force called lift. Lift is the force that keeps
birds and gliders in the air.

Most gliders have long, thin wings. The wings create enough
lift to carry the aircraft and its passengers. Gliders usu-
ally ride currents of air the same way a hawk soars.

Gliders are very light, and long wings and air currents can give
them enough lift to fly. But to carry more than just a
passenger or two, an aircraft needs a lot more lift. The question
is: How do you create more lift?

The engine is the answer!

The engine is a machine that changes energy into movement.
The forward movement that an airplane needs to fly is

called thrust. More thrust makes an airplane move forward
faster. Moving faster creates more lift. And with more lift,
an airplane can carry more weight. So an aircraft with an engine
can carry passengers or cargo.

In 1903 the Wright brothers figured out how to get wings and an
engine to work together in order to give an airplane
enough thrust to fly. They made the first powered flight at Kitty
Hawk, North Carolina.

Since then, people have made airplanes that can fly faster than
sound can travel. They have made airplanes that can
fly all the way around the world without stopping.

Today, thousands of people travel in airplanes every day.
People really have learned how to fly!

Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Nivola, Claire A. Planting the trees of Kenya: the story of
Wangari Maathai. New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2008.
(2008)

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Sample Performance Tasks for Informational Texts

• Students identify the reasons Clyde Robert Bulla gives in
his book A Tree Is a Plant in support of his point
about the function of roots in germination. [RI.1.8]

• Students identify Edith Thacher Hurd as the author of
Starfish and Robin Brickman as the illustrator of the text
and define the role and materials each contributes to the text.
[RI.K.6]

• Students (with prompting and support from the teacher)
read “Garden Helpers” in National Geographic Young
Explorers and demonstrate their understanding of the main idea
of the text—not all bugs are bad—by retelling
key details. [RI.K.2]

• After listening to Gail Gibbons’ Fire! Fire!, students ask
questions about how firefighters respond to a fire and
answer using key details from the text. [RI.1.1]

• Students locate key facts or information in Claire
Llewellyn’s Earthworms by using various text features (head-
ings, table of contents, glossary) found in the text. [RI.1.5]

• Students ask and answer questions about animals (e.g.,
hyena, alligator, platypus, scorpion) they encounter in
Steve Jenkins and Robin Page’s What Do You Do With a Tail

Like This? [RI.K.4]

• Students use the illustrations along with textual details in
Wendy Pfeffer’s From Seed to Pumpkin to describe
the key idea of how a pumpkin grows. [RI.1.7]

• Students (with prompting and support from the teacher)
describe the connection between drag and flying
in Fran Hodgkins and True Kelley’s How People Learned to Fly
by performing the “arm spinning” experiment
described in the text. [RI.K.3]

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Grades 2–3 text exemplars

Stories

Gannett, Ruth Stiles. My Father’s Dragon. Illustrated by Ruth
Chrisman Gannett. New York: Random House, 1948.
(1948).

From Chapter Seven “My Father Meets a Lion”

“Who are you?” the lion yelled at my father.

“My name is Elmer Elevator.”

“Where do you think you are going?”

“I’m going home,” said my father.

“That’s what you think!” said the lion. “Ordinarily I’d save you
for afternoon tea, but I happen to be upset enough and
hungry enough to eat you right now.” And he picked up my
father in his front paws to feel how fat he was.

My father said, “Oh, please, Lion, before you eat me, tell me
why you are so particularly upset today.”

“It’s my mane,” said the lion, as he was figuring out how many
bites a little boy would make. “You see what a dreadful
mess it is, and I don’t seem to be able to do anything about it.
My mother is coming over on the dragon this after-
noon, and if she sees me this way I’m afraid she’ll stop my
allowance. She can’t stand messy manes! But I’m going to
eat you now, so it won’t make any difference to you.”

“Oh, wait a minute,” said my father, “and I’ll give you just the
things you need to make your mane a tidy and beautiful.
I have them here in my pack.”

“You do?” said the lion, “Well, give them to me, and perhaps

I’ll save you for afternoon tea after all,” and he put my
father down on the ground.”

My father opened the pack and took out the comb and the brush
and the seven hair ribbons of different colors.
“Look,” he said, “I’ll show you what to do on your forelock,
where you can watch me. First you brush a while, and then
you comb, and then you brush again until all the twigs and
snarls are gone. Then you divide it up into three and braid
it like this and tie a ribbon around the end.”

Ad my father was doing this, the lion watched very carefully
and began to look much happier. When my father tied
the ribbon he was all smiles. “Oh, that’s wonderful, really
wonderful!” said the lion. “Let me have the comb and brush
and see if I can do it.” So my father gave him the comb and
brush and the lion began busily grooming his mane. As a
matter of fact, he was so busy that he didn’t even know when
my father left.

From MY FATHER’S DRAGON by Ruth Stiles Gannett,
copyright 1948 by Random House, Inc. Used by permission of
Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House,
Inc. All rights reserved. Any additional use of this text,
such as for classroom use or curriculum development, requires
independent permission from Random House, Inc.

Averill, Esther. The Fire Cat. New York: HarperCollins, 1960.
(1960)
From “The Fire Cat”

Joe took Pickles to the Chief, who was sitting at his desk.

“Oh!” said the Chief. “I know this young cat. He is the one
who chases little cats.”

“How do you know?” asked Joe.

The Chief answered, “A Fire Chief knows many things.”

Just then the telephone began to ring. “Hello,” said the Chief.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Goodkind. Yes, Pickles is here. He
came with Joe. What did you say? You think Pickles would
like to live in our firehouse? Well, we shall see. Thank
you, Mrs. Goodkind. Good-bye.”

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The Chief looked at Pickles and said, “Mrs. Goodkind says you
are not a bad cat. And Joe likes you. I will let you live
here IF you will learn to be a good firehouse cat.”

Pickles walked quietly up the stairs after Joe. Joe and Pickles

went into a room where the firemen lived.

The men were pleased to have a cat. They wanted to play with
Pickles. But suddenly the fire bell rang. All the fire-
men ran to a big pole and down they went. The pole was the
fast way to get to their trucks. Pickles could hear the
trucks start up and rush off to the fire.

Pickles said to himself, “I must learn to do what the firemen do,
I must learn to slide down the pole.”

He jumped and put his paws around the pole. Down he fell with
a BUMP.

“Bumps or no bumps, I must try again,” said Pickles. Up the
stairs he ran. Down the pole he came – and bumped.
But by the time the firemen came back from the fire, Pickles
could slide down the pole.

“What a wonderful cat you are!” said the firemen. The Chief
did not say anything.

Pickles said to himself, “I must keep learning everything I can.”
So he learned to jump up on one of the big trucks.
And he learned to sit up straight on the seat while the truck
raced to a fire.

“What a wonderful cat you are!” said the firemen. The Chief
did not say anything.

Pickles said to himself, “Now I must learn to help the firemen
with their work.”

At the next fire, he jumped down from the truck. He ran to a
big hose, put his paws around it, and tried to help a fire-
man shoot water at the flames.

“What a wonderful cat you are!” said the firemen. The Chief
did not say anything.

The next day the Chief called all the firemen to his desk. Then
he called for Pickles. Pickles did not know what was
going to happen. He said to himself, “Maybe the Chief does not
like the way I work. Maybe he wants to send me back
to my old yard.” But Pickles went to the Chief.

At the Chief’s desk stood all the firemen – and Mrs. Goodkind!
The Chief said to Pickles, “I have asked Mrs. Goodkind
to come because she was your first friend. Pickles, jump up on
my desk. I have something to say to you.”

Pickles jumped up on the desk and looked at the Chief. Out of
the desk the Chief took – a little fire hat!

“Pickles,” said the Chief, “I have watched you at your work.
You have worked hard. The time has come for you to
know that you are now our Fire Cat.”

And with these words, the Chief put the little hat on Pickles’
head.

COPYRIGHT © 1960 BY ESTHER AVERILL. Copyright ©
renewed 1988. Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Steig, William. Amos & Boris. New York: Farrar, Straus and
Giroux, 1971. (1971)

Shulevitz, Uri. The Treasure. New York: Farrar, Straus and
Giroux, 1978. (1978)

Cameron, Ann. The Stories Julian Tells. New York: Random
House, 1981. (1981)

MacLachlan, Patricia. Sarah, Plain and Tall. New York:
HarperCollins, 1985. (1985)
From Chapter I

“Did Mama sing every day?” asked Caleb. “Every-single-day?”
He sat close to the fire, his chin in his hand. It was dusk,
and the dogs lay beside him on the warm hearthstones.

“Every-single-day,” I told him for the second time this week.
For the twentieth time this month. The hundredth time
this year? And the past few years?

“And did Papa sing, too?”

“Yes. Papa sang, too. Don’t get so close, Caleb. You’ll heat
up.”

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He pushed his chair back. It made a hollow scraping sound on
the hearthstones. And the dogs stirred. Lottie, small
and black, wagged her tail and lifted her head. Nick slept on.

I turned the bread dough over and over on the marble slab on
the kitchen table.

“Well, Papa doesn’t sing anymore,” said Caleb very softly. A
log broke apart and crackled in the fireplace. He looked
up at me. “What did I look like when I was born?”

“You didn’t have any clothes on,” I told him.

“I know that,” he said.

“You looked like this.” I held the bread dough up in a round
pale ball.

“I had hair,” said Caleb seriously.

“Not enough to talk about,” I said.

“And she named me Caleb,” he went on, filling in the old
familiar story.

“I would have named you Troublesome,” I said, making Caleb
smile.

“And Mama handed me to you in the yellow blanket and said…”
He waited for me to finish the story. “And said…?”

I sighed. “And Mama said. ‘Isn’t he beautiful, Anna?’”

“And I was,” Caleb finished.

Caleb thought the story was over, and I didn’t tell him what I
had really thought. He was homely and plain, and he had
a terrible holler and a horrid smell. But these were not the worst
of him. Mama died the next morning. That was the
worst thing about Caleb.

“Isn’t he beautiful, Anna?” her last words to me. I had gone to
bed thinking how wretched he looked. And I forgot to
say good night.

I wiped my hands on my apron and went to the window.
Outside, the prairie reached out and touched the places
where the sky came down. Though the winter was nearly over,
there were patches of snow everywhere. I looked at
the long dirt road that crawled across the plains, remembering
the morning that Mama had died, cruel and sunny.
They had come for her in a wagon and taken her away to be
buried. And then the cousins and aunts and uncles had
come and tried to fill up the house. But they couldn’t.

Slowly, one by one, they left. And then the days seemed long
and dark like winter days, even though it wasn’t winter.
And Papa didn’t sing.

COPYRIGHT © 1985 BY PATRICIA MACLACHLAN. Used by
permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Rylant, Cynthia. Henry and Mudge: The First Book of Their
Adventures. Illustrated by Suçie Stevenson. New York:
Atheneum, 1996. (1987)
From “Henry and Mudge”

Every day when Henry woke up, he saw Mudge’s big head. And
every day when Mudge woke up, he saw Henry’s

small face.

They ate breakfast at the same time; they ate supper at the same
time.

And when Henry was at school, Mudge just lay around and
waited. Mudge never went for a walk without Henry again.
And Henry never worried that Mudge would leave.

Because sometimes, in their dreams, they saw long silent roads,
big wide fields, deep streams, and pine trees.

In those dreams, Mudge was alone and Henry was alone. So
when Mudge woke up and knew Henry was with him, he
remembered the dream and stayed closer.

And when Henry woke up and knew Mudge was with him, he
remembered the dream

and the looking
and the calling
and the fear
and he knew he would never lose Mudge again.

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Reprinted with the permission of Atheneum Books for Young
Readers, an imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Pub-
lishing Division from HENRY AND MUDGE: The First Book
by Cynthia Rylant. Text copyright © 1987 Cynthia Rylant.

Stevens, Janet. Tops and Bottoms. New York: Harcourt, 1985.
(1995)

Once upon a time there lived a very lazy bear who had lots of
money and lots of land. His father had been a hard
worker and a smart business bear, and he had given all of his
wealth to his son.

But all Bear wanted to do was sleep.

Not far down the road lived a hare. Although Hare was clever,
he sometimes got into trouble. He had once owned
land, too, but now he had nothing. He had lost a risky bet with a
tortoise and had sold off all of his land to Bear to pay
off the debt.

Hare and his family were in very bad shape.

“The children are so hungry Father Hare! We must think of
something!” Mrs. Hare cried one day. So Hare and Mrs.
Hare put their heads together and cooked up a plan.

[…]

Bear stared at his pile. “But, Hare, all the best parts are in your
half!”

“You chose the tops, Bear,” Hare said.

“Now, Hare, you’ve tricked me. You plant this field again—
and this season I want the bottoms!”

Hare agreed. “It’s a done deal, Bear.”

LaMarche, Jim. The Raft. New York: HarperCollins, 2000.
(2000)

Somehow, on the river, it seemed like summer would never end.
But of course it did.

On my last day, I got up extra early and crept down to the dock.
The air was cool and a low pearly fog hung over the
river. I untied the raft and quietly drifted downstream.

Ahead of me, through the fog, I saw two deer moving across the
river, a doe and a fawn. When they reached the
shore, the doe leaped easily up the steep bank, then turned to
wait for her baby. But the fawn was in trouble. It kept
slipping down the muddy bank, The doe returned to the water to
help, but the more the fawn struggled, the deeper it
got stuck in the mud.

I pushed off the river bottom and drove the raft hard onto the
muddy bank, startling the doe. Then I dropped into the
water. I was ankle-deep in mud.

You’re okay,” I whispered to the fawn, praying that the raft
would calm it. “I won’t hurt you.”

Gradually the fawn stopped struggling, as if it understood that I
was there to help. I put my arms around it and pulled.
It barely moved. I pulled again, then again. Slowly the fawn
eased out of the mud, and finally it was free. Carefully I
carried the fawn up the bank to its mother.

Then, quietly, I returned to the raft. From there I watched the
doe nuzzle and clean her baby, and I knew what I had
to do. I pulled the stub of a crayon from my pocket, and drew
the fawn, in all its wildness, onto the old gray boards of
the raft. When I had finished, I knew it was just right.

Text copyright © 2000 Jim LaMarche. Used by permission of
HarperCollins Publishers.

Rylant, Cynthia. Poppleton in Winter. Illustrated by Mark
Teague. New York: Scholastic, 2001. (2001)
From “The Sleigh Ride”

It was a very snowy day and Poppleton felt like a sleigh ride.
He called his friend Cherry Sue.

“Would you like to go for a sleigh ride?” Poppleton asked.

“Sorry, Poppleton, I’m making cookies,” said Cherry Sue.

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Poppleton called his friend Hudson.

“Would you like to go for a sleigh ride?” Poppleton asked.

“Sorry,” said Hudson, “I’m baking a cake.”

Poppleton called his friend Fillmore.

“Would you like to go for a sleigh ride?” Poppleton asked.

“Sorry,” said Fillmore. “I’m stirring some fudge.”

Poppleton was disappointed. He couldn’t find one friend for a
sleigh ride. And besides that, they were all making
such good things to eat!

He sat in front of his window, feeling very sorry for himself.
Suddenly the doorbell rang.

“SURPRISE!”

There stood all of Poppleton’s friends! With cookies and cake
and fudge and presents! “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, POPPLE -
TON!”

He had forgotten his own birthday! Everyone ate and laughed
and played games with Poppleton.

Then, just before midnight, they all took him on a sleigh ride.

The moon was full and white. The stars twinkled. The owls
hooted in the trees. Over the snow went the sleigh filled
with Poppleton and all of his friends.

Poppleton didn’t even make a birthday wish. He had everything
already.

From POPPLETON IN WINTER by Cynthia Rylant. Scholastic
Inc./Blue Sky Press. Copyright © 2001 by Cynthia Rylant.
Used by permission.

Rylant, Cynthia. The Lighthouse Family: The Storm. Illustrated
by Preston McDaniels. New York: Simon & Schuster,
2002. (2002)

In a lonely lighthouse, far from city and town, far from the
comfort of friends, lived a kindhearted cat named Pandora.

She had been living in this lighthouse all alone for four long
years, and it was beginning to wear. She found herself
sighing long, deep, lonely sighs. She sat on the rocks
overlooking the waves far too long. Sometimes her nose got a
sunburn.

And at night, when she tried to read by the lantern light, her
mind wandered and she would think for hours on her
childhood when she had friends and company.

Why did Pandora accept this lonely lighthouse life?

Because a lighthouse had once saved her.

Reprinted with the permission of Simon & Schuster Books for
Young Readers, an imprint of Simon & Schuster Chil-
dren’s Publishing Division from THE LIGHTHOUSE FAMILY:
THE STORM by Cynthia Rylant. Text Copyright © 2002
Cynthia Rylant.

Osborne, Mary Pope. The One-Eyed Giant (Book One of Tales
from the Odyssey). New York: Disney Hyperion, 2002.
(2002)
From Chapter Five: “The One-Eyed Giant”

A hideous giant lumbered into the clearing. He carried nearly
half a forest’s worth of wood on his back. His monstrous
head jutted from his body like a shaggy mountain peak. A single
eye bulged in the center of his forehead.

The monster was Polyphemus. He was the most savage of all the
Cyclopes, a race of fierce one-eyed giants who lived
without laws or leader. The Cyclopes were ruthless creatures
who were known to capture and devour any sailors who
happened near their shores.

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Polyphemus threw down his pile of wood. As it crashed to the
ground, Odysseus and his men fled to the darkest
corners of the cave.

Unaware that the Greeks were hiding inside, Polyphemus drove
his animals into the cave. Then he rolled a huge boul-
der over its mouth to block out the light of day and imprison his
flock inside.

Twenty-four wagons could not haul that rock away, Odysseus
thought desperately. How will we escape this monster?

Odysseus’ men trembled with terror as the giant made a small
fire and milked his goats in the shadowy light. His milk-
ing done, he threw more wood on his fire. The flame blazed
brightly, lighting up the corners of the cave where Odys-
seus and his men were hiding.

“What’s this? Who are you? From where do you come?” the
giant boomed. He glared at the Greeks with his single
eye. “Are you pirates who steal the treasure of others?”

Odysseus’ men were frozen with terror. But Odysseus hid his
own fear and stepped toward the monster.

“We are not pirates,” he said, “We are Greeks blown off course
by storm winds. Will you offer us the gift of hospitality

like a good host? If you do, mighty Zeus, king of the gods, will
be pleased. Zeus is the guardian of all strangers.”

“Fool!” the giant growled. “Who are you to tell me to please
Zeus? I am a son of Poseidon, god of the seas! I am not
afraid of Zeus!”

Odysseus men cowered in fear.

Polyphemus moved closer to Odysseus. He spoke in a soft,
terrible voice. “But tell me, stranger, where is your ship?
Near or far from shore?”

Odysseus knew Polyphemus was trying to trap him. “Our ship
was destroyed in the storm,” he lied. “It was dashed
against the rocks. With these good men I escaped, I ask you
again, will you welcome us?”

From Mary Pope Osborne’s the One Eyed Giant © 2002 by
Mary Pope Osborne. Reprinted by permission of
Disney∙Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group LLC, All
Rights Reserved.

Silverman, Erica. Cowgirl Kate and Cocoa. Illustrated by Betsy
Lewin. Orlando: Harcourt, 2005. (2005)
From Chapter 1: “A Story for Cocoa”

Cowgirl Kate rode her horse, Cocoa, out to the pasture.

“It’s time to herd cows,” said Cowgirl Kate.

“I am thirsty,” said Cocoa.

He stopped at the creek and took a drink.

“Are you ready now?” asked Cowgirl Kate.

“No,” said Cocoa. “Now I am hungry.”

Cowgirl Kate gave him an apple. He ate it in one bite. Then he
sniffed the saddlebag.

Cowgirl Kate gave him another apple. He ate that in one bite,
too. He sniffed the saddlebag again.

“You are a pig,” said Cowgirl Kate.

“No,” said Cocoa. “I am a horse.”

“A cowhorse?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said.

“But a cowhorse herds cows,” she said.

“Just now, I am too full,” he said.

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Cowgirl Kate smiled. “Then I will tell you a story.”

“Once there was a cowgirl who needed a cowhorse. She went to
a ranch and saw lots and lots of horses. Then she
saw a horse whose coat was the color of chocolate. His tail and
mane were the color of caramel. ‘Yum,’ said the cow-
girl, ‘you are the colors of my favorite candy.’ The horse
looked at her. He sniffed her.”

“’Are you a real cowgirl?’ he asked. ‘I am a cowgirl from the
boots up,’ she said. ‘Well, I am a cowhorse from the mane
down,’ he said. ‘Will you work hard every day?’ the cowgirl
asked.. The horse raised his head high. ‘Of course,’ he
said, ‘a cowhorse always does his job.’ ‘At last,’ said the
cowgirl, ‘I have found my horse.’”

“That was a good story,” said Cocoa. He raised his head high.
“And now I am ready to herd cows.”

Excerpted from COWGIRL KATE AND COCOA By Erica
Silverman. Text copyright © 2005 by Erica Silverman. Used by
Permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.
All rights reserved.

Poetry

Dickinson, Emily. “Autumn.” The Compete Poems of Emily
Dickinson. Boston: Little, Brown, 1960. (1893)

The morns are meeker than they were.

The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.

Rossetti, Christina. “Who Has Seen the Wind?” Sing a Song of
Popcorn: Every Child’s Book of Poems. Selected by
Beatrice Schenk de Regniers et al. Illustrated by Marcia Brown
et al. New York: Scholastic, 1988. (1893)

Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you;
But when the leaves hang trembling
The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I;
But when the trees bow down their heads
The wind is passing by.

Millay, Edna St. Vincent. “Afternoon on a Hill.” The Selected
Poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay. Edited by Nancy
Milford. New York: Modern Library, 2001. (1917)

I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,

And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!

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Frost, Robert. “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.” The
Poetry of Robert Frost: The Collected Poems. Edited
by Edward Connery Lathem. New York: Henry Holt, 1979.
(1923)

Field, Rachel. “Something Told the Wild Geese.” Branches
Green. New York: Macmillan, 1934. (1934)

Hughes, Langston. “Grandpa’s Stories.” The Collected Poems of
Langston Hughes. New York: Knopf, 1994. (1958)

Jarrell, Randall. “A Bat Is Born.” The Bat Poet. New York:
HarperCollins, 1964. (1964)

A bat is born
Naked and blind and pale.
His mother makes a pocket of her tail
And catches him. He clings to her long fur
By his thumbs and toes and teeth.
And them the mother dances through the night
Doubling and looping, soaring, somersaulting—
Her baby hangs on underneath.
All night, in happiness, she hunts and flies
Her sharp cries
Like shining needlepoints of sound
Go out into the night and, echoing back,
Tell her what they have touched.
She hears how far it is, how big it is,
Which way it’s going:
She lives by hearing.
The mother eats the moths and gnats she catches
In full flight; in full flight

The mother drinks the water of the pond
She skims across. Her baby hangs on tight.
Her baby drinks the milk she makes him
In moonlight or starlight, in mid-air.
Their single shadow, printed on the moon
Or fluttering across the stars,
Whirls on all night; at daybreak
The tired mother flaps home to her rafter.
The others are all there.
They hang themselves up by their toes,
They wrap themselves in their brown wings.

Bunched upside down, they sleep in air.
Their sharp ears, their sharp teeth, their
quick sharp faces
Are dull and slow and mild.
All the bright day, as the mother sleeps,
She folds her wings about her sleeping child.

Copyright © 1964 BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
RENEWED TEXT COPYRIGHT © 199 2 BY MARY JERRELL.
Used by
permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Giovanni, Nikki. “Knoxville, Tennessee.” Sing a Song of
Popcorn: Every Child’s Book of Poems. Selected by Beatrice
Schenk de Regniers et al. Illustrated by Marcia Brown et al.
New York: Scholastic, 1988. (1968)

I always like summer
best
you can eat fresh corn
from daddy’s garden
and okra
and greens
and cabbage
and lots of
barbecue
and buttermilk

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and homemade ice-cream
at the church picnic

and listen to
gospel music
outside
at the church
homecoming
and you go to the mountains
with
your grandmother
and go barefooted
and be warm
all the time
not only when you go to bed
and sleep

COPYRIGHT © 1968 BY Nikki Giovanni. Used by permission.

Merriam, Eve. “Weather.” Sing a Song of Popcorn: Every
Child’s Book of Poems. Selected by Beatrice Schenk de
Regniers et al. Illustrated by Marcia Brown et al. New York:
Scholastic, 1988. (1969)

Soto, Gary. “Eating While Reading.” The 20th Century
Children’s Poetry Treasury. Selected by Jack Prelutsky.
Illustrated by Meilo So. New York: Knopf, 1999. (1995)

What is better
Than this book
And the churn of candy
In your mouth,
Or the balloon of bubble gum,
Or the crack of sunflower seeds,
Or the swig of soda,
Or the twist of beef jerky,
Or the slow slither
Of snow cone syrup
Running down your arms?

What is better than
This sweet dance
On the tongue,
And this book
That pulls you in?
It yells, “Over here!”
And you hurry along
With a red, sticky face.

“Eating While Reading” from CANTO FAMILIAR by Gary
Soto. Copyright © 1995 by Gary Soto. Used by Permission of
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights
reserved.

Read-Aloud Stories

Kipling, Rudyard. “How the Camel Got His Hump.” Just So
Stories. New York: Puffin, 2008. (1902)

Now this is the next tale, and it tells how the Camel got his big
hump.

In the beginning of years, when the world was so new and all,
and the Animals were just beginning to work for Man,
there was a Camel, and he lived in the middle of a Howling
Desert because he did not want to work; and besides, he
was a Howler himself. So he ate sticks and thorns and tamarisks
and milkweed and prickles, most ‘scruciating idle; and
when anybody spoke to him he said “Humph!” Just “Humph!”
and no more.

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Presently the Horse came to him on Monday morning, with a
saddle on his back and a bit in his mouth, and said,
“Camel, O Camel, come out and trot like the rest of us.”

“Humph!” said the Camel; and the Horse went away and told
the Man.

Presently the Dog came to him, with a stick in his mouth, and
said, “Camel, O Camel, come and fetch and carry like
the rest of us.”

“Humph !” said the Camel; and the Dog went away and told the
Man.

Presently the Ox came to him, with the yoke on his neck and
said, “Camel, O Camel, come and plough like the rest of
us.”

“Humph!” said the Camel; and the Ox went away and told the
Man.

At the end of the day the Man called the Horse and the Dog and
the Ox together, and said, “Three, O Three, I’m very
sorry for you (with the world so new-and-all); but that Humph-
thing in the Desert can’t work, or he would have been
here by now, so I am going to leave him alone, and you must
work double-time to make up for it.”

That made the Three very angry (with the world so new-and-
all), and they held a palaver, and an indaba, and
a punchayet, and a pow-wow on the edge of the Desert; and the
Camel came chewing milkweed most ’scruciating
idle, and laughed at them. Then he said “Humph!” and went
away again.

Presently there came along the Djinn in charge of All Deserts,
rolling in a cloud of dust (Djinns always travel that way
because it is Magic), and he stopped to palaver and pow-wow
with the Three.

“Djinn of All Deserts,” said the Horse, “is it right for any one
to be idle, with the world so new-and-all?”

“Certainly not,” said the Djinn.

“Well,” said the Horse, “there’s a thing in the middle of your
Howling Desert (and he’s a Howler himself) with a long
neck and long legs, and he hasn’t done a stroke of work since
Monday morning. He won’t trot.”

“Whew!” said the Djinn, whistling, “that’s my Camel, for all
the gold in Arabia! What does he say about it?”

“He says ‘Humph!’” said the Dog; “and he won’t fetch and
carry.”

“Does he say anything else?”

“Only ‘Humph!’; and he won’t plough,” said the Ox.

“Very good,” said the Djinn. “I’ll humph him if you will kindly
wait a minute.”

Thurber, James. The Thirteen Clocks. Illustrated by Marc
Simont. New York: New York Review Children’s Collection,
2008. (1950)
From Chapter 1

Once upon a time, in a gloomy castle on a lonely hill, where
there were thirteen clocks that wouldn’t go, there lived
a cold aggressive Duke, and his niece, the Princess Saralinda.
She was warm in every wind and weather, but he was
always cold. His hands were as cold as his smile and almost as
cold as his heart. He wore gloves when he was asleep,
and he wore gloves when he was awake, which made it difficult

for him to pick up pins or coins or kernels of nuts, or
to tear the wings from nightingales. He was six feet four, and
forty-six, and even colder than he thought he was. One
eye wore a velvet patch; the other glittered through a monocle,
which made half of his body seem closer to you than
the other half. He had lost one eye when he was twelve, for he
was fond of peering into nests and lairs in search of
birds and animals to maul. One afternoon, a mother shrike had
mauled him first. His nights were spent in evil dreams,
and his days were given to wicked schemes.

Wickedly scheming, he would limp and cackle through the cold
corridors of the castle, planning new impossible
feats for the suitors of Saralinda to perform. He did not wish to
give her hand in marriage, since her hand was the
only warm hand in the castle. Even the hands of his watch and
the hands of all the thirteen clocks were frozen. They
had all frozen at the same time, on a snowy night, seven years
before, and after that it was always ten to five in the
castle. Travelers and mariners would look up at the gloomy
castle on the lonely hill and say, “Time lies frozen there. It’s
always Then. It’s never Now.”

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White, E. B. Charlotte’s Web. Illustrated by Garth Williams.
New York: HarperCollins, 2001. (1952)
From Chapter 1: “Before Breakfast”

“Where’s Papa going with that ax?” said Fern to her mother as
they were setting the table for breakfast.

“Out to the hoghouse,” replied Mrs. Arable. “Some pigs were
born last night.”

“I don’t see why he needs an ax,” continued Fern, who was only
eight.

“Well,” said her mother, “one of the pigs is a runt. It’s very
small and weak, and it will never amount to anything. So
your father has decided to do away with it.”

“Do away with it?” shrieked Fern. “You mean kill it? Just
because it’s smaller than the others?”

Mrs. Arable put a pitcher of cream on the table. “Don’t yell,
Fern!” she said. “Your father is right. The pig would prob-
ably die anyway.”

Fern pushed a chair out of the way and ran outdoors. The grass
was wet and the earth smelled of springtime. Fern’s
sneakers were sopping by the time she caught up with her
father.

“Please don’t kill it!” she sobbed. “It’s unfair.” Mr. Arable
stopped walking.

“Fern,” he said gently, “you will have to learn to control
yourself.”

“Control myself?” yelled Fern. “This is a matter of life and
death, and you talk about controlling myself.”

Tears ran down her cheeks and she took hold of the ax and tried
to pull it out of her father’s hand.

“Fern,” said Mr. Arable, “I know more about raising a litter of
pigs than you do. A weakling makes trouble. Now run
along!”

“But it’s unfair,” cried Fern. “The pig couldn’t help being born
small, could it? If I had been very small at birth, would
you have killed me?”

Mr. Arable smiled. “Certainly not,” he said, looking down at his
daughter with love. “But this is different. A little girl is
one thing, a little runty pig is another.”

“I see no difference,” replied Fern, still hanging on to the ax.
“This is the most terrible case of injustice I ever heard of.”

Selden, George. The Cricket in Times Square. Illustrated by
Garth Williams. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux,
1960. (1960)
From Chapter Three: “Chester”

Tucker Mouse had been watching the Bellinis and listening to
what they said. Next to scrounging, eaves-dropping on
human beings was what he enjoyed most. That was one of the

reasons he lived in the Times Square subway station.
As soon as the family disappeared, he darted out across the
floor and scooted up to the newsstand. At one side
the boards had separated and there was a wide space he could
jump through. He’d been in a few times before—just
exploring. For a moment he stood under the three-legged stool,
letting his eyes get used to the darkness. Then he
jumped up on it.

“Psst!” he whispered. “Hey, you up there—are you awake?”

There was no answer.

“Psst! Psst! Hey!” Tucker whispered again, louder this time.

From the shelf above came a scuffling, like little feet feeling
their way to the edge. “Who is that going ‘psst’?” said a
voice.

“It’s me,” said Tucker. “Down here on the stool.”

A black head, with two shiny black eyes, peered down at him.
“Who are you?”

“A mouse,” said Tucker. “Who are you?”

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“I’m Chester Cricket, said the cricket. He had a high, musical
voice. Everything he said seemed spoken in an unheard
melody.

“My name’s Tucker,” said Tucker Mouse. “Can I come up?”

“I guess so,” said Chester Cricket. “This isn’t my house
anyway.”

Tucker jumped up beside the cricket and looked him all over.
“A cricket,” he said admiringly. “So you’re a cricket. I
never saw one before.”

I’ve seen mice before,” the cricket said. “I knew quite a few
back in Connecticut.”

“Is that where you’re from?” asked Tucker.

“Yes,” said Chester. “I guess I’ll never see it again,” he added
wistfully.

Babbitt, Natalie. The Search for Delicious. New York: Farrar,
Straus and Giroux, 1969. (1969)
From the Prologue

There was a time once when the earth was still very young, a
time some call the oldest days. This was long before
there were any people about to dig parts of it up and cut parts of
it off. People came along much later, building their
towns and castles (which nearly always fell down after a while)
and plaguing each other with quarrels and supper par-
ties. The creatures who lived on earth in that early time stayed
each in his own place and kept it beautiful. There were
dwarfs in the mountains, woldwellers in the forests, mermaids
in the lakes, and, of course, winds in the air.

There was one particular spot on the earth where a ring of
mountains enclosed a very dry and dusty place. There
were winds and dwarfs there, but no mermaids because there
weren’t any lakes, and there were no woldwellers either
because forests couldn’t grow in so dry a place.

Then a remarkable thing happened. Up in the mountains one day
a dwarf was poking about with a sharp tool, looking
for a good spot to begin mining. He poked and poked until he
had made a very deep hole in the earth. Then he poked
again and clear spring water came spurting up in the hole. He
hurried in great excitement to tell the other dwarfs and
they all came running to see the water. They were so pleased
that they built over it a fine house of heavy stones and
they made a special door out of a flat rock and balanced it in its
place very carefully on carved hinges. Then one of
them made a whistle out of a small stone which blew a certain
very high note tuned to just the right warble so that
when you blew it, the door of the rock house would open, and
when you blew it again, the door would shut. They
took turns being in charge of the whistle and they worked hard
to keep the spring clean and beautiful.

Curtis, Christopher Paul. Bud, Not Buddy. New York: Random
House, 1999. (1999)

(Also listed as a narrative for grades 4–5)
From Chapter 1

Here we go again. We were all standing in line waiting for
breakfast when one of the caseworkers came in and tap-
tap-taped down the line. Uh-oh, this meant bad news, either
they’d found a foster home for somebody or somebody
was about to get paddled. All the kids watched the woman as
she moved along the line, her high-heeled shoes
sounding like little fire-crackers going off on the wooden floor.

Shoot! She stopped at me and said, “Are you Buddy Caldwell?”

I said, “It’s Bud, not Buddy, ma’am.”

She put her hand on my shoulder and took me out of the line.
Then she pulled Jerry, one of the littler boys, over.
“Aren’t you Jerry Clark?” He nodded.

“Boys, good news! Now that the school year has ended, you
both have been accepted in new temporary-care homes
starting this afternoon!”

Jerry asked the same thing I was thinking, “Together?”

She said, “Why no, Jerry, you’ll be in a family with three little
girls…”

Jerry looked like he’d just found out they were going to dip him
in a pot of boiling milk.

“…and Bud…” She looked at some papers she was holding.
“Oh, yes, the Amoses, you’ll be with Mr. and Mrs. Amos and
their son, who’s twelve years old, that makes him just two years
older than you, doesn’t it, Bud?”

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Yes, ma’am.”

She said, “I’m sure you’ll both be very happy.”

Me and Jerry looked at each other.

The woman said, “Now, now, boys, no need to look so glum, I
know you don’t understand what it means, but there’s a
depression going on all over this country. People can’t find jobs
and these are very, very difficult times for everybody.
We’ve been lucky enough to find two wonderful families
who’ve opened their doors for you. I think it’s best that we
show our new foster families that we’re very…”

She dragged out the word very, waiting for us to finish her

sentence for her.

Jerry said, “Cheerful, helpful and grateful.” I moved my lips
and mumbled.

She smiled and said, “Unfortunately, you won’t have time for
breakfast. I’ll have a couple of pieces of fruit put in a bag.
In the meantime go to the sleep room and strip your beds and
gather all of your things.”

Here we go again. I felt like I was walking in my sleep as I
followed Jerry back to the room where all the boys’ beds
were jim-jammed together. This was the third foster home I was
going to and I’m used to packing up and leaving, but
it still surprises me that there are always a few seconds, right
after they tell you you’ve got to go, when my nose gets
all runny and my throat gets all choky and my eyes get all sting-
y. But the tears coming out doesn’t happen to me
anymore, I don’t know when it first happened, but is seems like
my eyes don’t cry anymore.

Say, Allen. The Sign Painter. New York: Houghton Mifflin,
2000. (2000)

“Are you lost, son?” the man asked.

“Yes . . . I mean no. I need a job,” the young man stammered
looking not much more than a boy.

“Tell me what you can do.”

“I can paint.”

“Ah, an artist. Are you good at faces?”

“I think so.”

“Can you paint them big?”

“Yes.”

“All right, I’m interested.” The man put down the brush, and
said, “Come with me.”

Excerpt from THE SIGN PAINTER by Allen Say. Copyright ©
2000 by Allen Say. Used by Permission of Houghton Mif-
flin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.

Read-Aloud Poetry

Lear, Edward. “The Jumblies.” Sing a Song of Popcorn: Every
Child’s Book of Poems. Selected by Beatrice Schenk
de Regniers et al. Illustrated by Marcia Brown et al. New York:
Scholastic, 1988. (1871)

They went to sea in a sieve, they did;
In a sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter’s morn, on a stormy day,
In a sieve they went to sea.
And when the sieve turned round and round,
And every one cried, “You’ll all be drowned!”

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They called aloud, “Our sieve ain’t big;
But we don’t care a button, we don’t care a fig:
In a sieve we’ll go to sea!”

Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live:
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue
And they went to sea in a sieve.

They sailed away in a sieve, they did,
In a sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a ribbon, by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast.
And every one said who saw them go,
“Oh! won’t they be soon upset, you know?
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long;
And, happen what may, it’s extremely wrong
In a sieve to sail so fast.”

Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live:
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue
And they went to sea in a sieve.

The water it soon came in, it did;
The water it soon came in:
So, to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat;
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar;
And each of them said, “How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our sieve we spin.”

Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live:
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue
And they went to sea in a sieve.

And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.”
O Timballoo! How happy we are
When we live in a sieve and a crockery-jar!
And all night long, in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail
In the shade of the mountains brown

Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live:
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue
And they went to sea in a sieve.

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,—
To a land all covered with trees:
And they bought an owl, and a useful cart,

And a pound of rice, and a cranberry-tart,
And a hive of silvery bees;
And they bought a pig, and some green jackdaws,
And a lovely monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of ring-bo-ree,
And no end of Stilton cheese.

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Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live:
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue
And they went to sea in a sieve.

And in twenty years they all came back,—
In twenty years or more;
And every one said, “How tall they’ve grown!

For they’ve been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
And the hills of the Chankly Bore.
“And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And every one said, “If we only live,
We, too, will go to sea in a sieve,
To the hills of the Chankly Bore.

Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live:
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue
And they went to sea in a sieve.

Browning, Robert. The Pied Piper of Hamelin. Illustrated by
Kate Greenaway. New York: Knopf, 1993. (1888)

Hamelin Town’s in Brunswick,
By famous Hanover city;
The river Weser, deep and wide,
Washes its wall on the southern side;
A pleasanter spot you never spied;
But, when begins my ditty,
Almost five hundred years ago,
To see the townsfolk suffer so
From vermin, was a pity.

Rats!
They fought the dogs and killed the cats,
And bit the babies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats.
And licked the soup from the cook’s own ladles,
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men’s Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women’s chats,
By drowning their speaking
With shrieking and squeaking

In fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a body
To the Town Hall came flocking:
“Tis clear,” cried they, “our Mayor’s a noddy;
And as for our Corporation—shocking
To think we buy gowns lined with ermine
For dolts that can’t or won’t determine
What’s best to rid us of our vermin!
You hope, because you’re old and obese,
To find in the furry civic robe ease?
Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking
To find the remedy we’re lacking,
Or, sure as fate, we’ll send you packing!”
At this the Mayor and Corporation
Quaked with a mighty consternation.

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Johnson, Georgia Douglas. “Your World.” Words with Wings: A
Treasury of African-American Poetry and Art.
Selected by Belinda Rochelle. New York: HarperCollins, 2001.
(1918)

Your world is as big as you make it.
I know, for I used to abide
In the narrowest nest in a corner,
My wings pressing close to my side.

But I sighted the distant horizon
Where the skyline encircled the sea
And I throbbed with a burning desire
To travel this immensity.

I battered the cordons around me
And cradled my wings on the breeze,
Then soared to the uttermost reaches
With rapture, with power, with ease!

Eliot, T. S. “The Song of the Jellicles.” Old Possum’s Book of
Practical Cats. Illustrated by Edward Gorey. Orlando:
Harcourt, 1982. (1939)

Fleischman, Paul. “Fireflies.” Joyful Noise: Poems for Two
Voices. Illustrated by Eric Beddows. New York:
HarperCollins, 1988. (1988)

Light Light
is the ink we use
Night Night
is our parchment
We’re
fireflies

fireflies flickering
flitting
flashing
fireflies
glimmering fireflies
gleaming
glowing
Insect calligraphers Insect calligraphers
practicing penmanship
copying sentences
Six-legged scribblers Six-legged scribblers
of vanishing messages,
fleeting graffiti
Fine artists in flight Fine artists in flight
adding dabs of light
bright brush strokes
Signing the June nights Signing the June nights
as if they were paintings as if they were paintings
We’re
flickering fireflies
fireflies flickering
fireflies. fireflies.

TEXT COPYRIGHT © 1988 BY PAUL FLEISCHMAN. Used by
permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Sample Performance Tasks for Stories and Poetry

• Students ask and answer questions regarding the plot of
Patricia MacLachlan’s Sarah, Plain and Tall, explicitly
referring to the book to form the basis for their answers.
[RL.3.1]

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• Students explain how Mark Teague’s illustrations
contribute to what is conveyed in Cynthia Rylant’s Poppleton
in Winter to create the mood and emphasize aspects of
characters and setting in the story. [RL.3.7]

• Students read fables and folktales from diverse cultures
that represent various origin tales, such as Rudyard
Kipling’s “How the Camel Got His Hump” and Natalie Babbitt’s
The Search for Delicious, and paraphrase their
central message, lesson, or moral. [RL.2.2]

• Students describe the overall story structure of The
Thirteen Clocks by James Thurber, describing how the
interactions of the characters of the Duke and Princess
Saralinda introduce the beginning of the story and how
the suspenseful plot comes to an end. [RL.2.5]

• When discussing E. B. White’s book Charlotte’s Web,

students distinguish their own point of view regarding
Wilbur the Pig from that of Fern Arable as well as from that of
the narrator. [RL.3.6]

• Students describe how the character of Bud in Christopher
Paul Curtis’ story Bud, Not Buddy responds to a
major event in his life of being placed in a foster home.
[RL.2.3]

• Students read Paul Fleischman’s poem “Fireflies,”
determining the meaning of words and phrases in the poem,
particularly focusing on identifying his use of nonliteral
language (e.g., “light is the ink we use”) and talking
about how it suggests meaning. [RL.3.4]

Informational Texts

Aliki. A Medieval Feast. New York: HarperCollins, 1986.
(1983)

It was announced from the palace that the King would soon
make a long journey.

On the way to his destination, the King and his party would
spend a few nights at Camdenton Manor. The lord of the
manor knew what this meant. The king traveled with his Queen,
his knights, squires, and other members of his court.
There could be a hundred mouths to feed!

Preparations for the visit began at once. The lord and lady of
the manor had their serfs to help them. The serfs lived
in huts provided for them on the lord’s estate, each with its own
plot of land. In return, they were bound to serve the
lord. They farmed his land, managed his manor house, and if
there was a war, they had to go to battle with the lord
and the King.

But now they prepared.

The manor had its own church, which was attended by everyone
on the estate.

The manor house had to be cleaned, the rooms readied, tents set
up for the horsemen, fields fenced for the horses.
And above all, provisions had to be gathered for the great feast.

The Royal Suite was redecorated.

Silk was spun, new fabric was woven.

The Royal Crest was embroidered on linen and painted on the
King’s chair.

The lord and his party went hunting and hawking for fresh meat.

Hunting was a sport for the rich only. The wild animals that
lived on the lord’s estate belonged to him. Anyone caught
poaching—hunting illegally—was severely punished.

Falcons and hawks were prizeds pets. They were trained to
attack birds for their masters to capture.

They trapped rabbits and birds of all kinds, and fished for
salmon and eels and trout.

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Serfs hid in bushes and caught birds in traps. They set ferrets in
burrows to chase out rabbits.

There were fruits and vegetables growing in the garden, herbs
and flowers for sauces and salads, and bees made
honey for sweetening.

COPYRIGHT © 1983 BY ALIKI BRANDENBERG. Used by
permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Gibbons, Gail. From Seed to Plant. New York: Holiday House,
1993. (1991)
From “A ‘From Seed to Plant’ Project”

How to raise bean plants

1. Find a clean glass jar. Take a piece of black construction
paper and roll it up.

2. Slide the paper into the jar. Fill the jar with water.

3. Wedge the bean seeds between the black paper and the glass.

Put the jar in a warm place.

4. In a few days the seeds will begin to sprout. Watch the roots
grow down. The shoots will grow up.

5. Put dirt into a big clay pot.

6. Carefully remove the small plants from the glass jar. Place
them in the soil, covering them up to the base of their
shoots.

7. Water them…and watched them grow.

Copyright © 1991 by Gail Gibbons. Used by permission.

Milton, Joyce. Bats: Creatures of the Night. Illustrated by Joyce
Moffatt. New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1993. (1993)

No one has lived on this farm for years.
The barn looks empty.
But it isn’t!
Strange creatures are sleeping in the loft.
As the sun goes down, they take to the air.

From BATS: CREATURES OF THE NIGHT by Joyce Milton.
Text © 1993 by Joyce Milton. Illustrations © 1993 by Judith
Moffatt. Used by permission of Grosset & Dunlap, A Division
of Penguin Young Readers Group, A Member of Penguin
Group (USA) Inc. All rights reserved.

Beeler, Selby. Throw Your Tooth on the Roof: Tooth Traditions
Around the World. Illustrated by G. Brian Karas. New
York: Houghton Mifflin, 2001. (1998)

Has this ever happened to you?
You find a loose tooth in your mouth.

Yikes! You can wiggle it with your finger.
You can push it back and forth with your tongue.
Then one day it falls out.
There you are with your old baby tooth in your hand and a big
hole in your mouth.
It happens to everyone, everywhere, all over the world.
“Look! Look! My tooth fell out! My tooth fell out!”
But what happens next?
What in the world do you do with your tooth?

North America

United States
I put my tooth under my pillow. While I’m sound asleep, the
Tooth Fairy will come into my room, take my tooth, and
leave some money in its place.

Mexico
When I go to sleep, I leave my tooth in a box on the bedside
table. I hope El Ratón, the magic mouse, will take my
tooth and bring me some money. He leaves more money for a
front tooth.

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Yupik
My mother wraps my tooth in a food, like meat or bread. Then I
feed it to a female dog and say, “Replace this tooth
with a better one.”

Yellowknife Déné
My mother or grandmother takes my tooth and puts it in a tree
and then my family dances around it. This makes cer-
tain that my new tooth will grow in as straight as a tree.

Navajo
My mother saves my tooth until my mouth stops hurting. Then
we take my tooth to the southeast, away from our
house. We bury the tooth on the east side of a healthy young
sagebrush, rabbit bush, or pinyon tree because we be-
lieve that east is the direction associated with childhood.

Excerpted from THROW YOUR TOOTH ON THE ROOF: Tooth
Traditions From Around the World. Text Copyright ©
1998 by Selby B. Beeler. Used by Permission of Houghton
Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.

Leonard, Heather. Art Around the World. New York: Rigby,
1998. (1998)

Ruffin, Frances E. Martin Luther King and the March on
Washington. Illustrated by Stephen Marchesi. New York:
Grosset & Dunlap, 2000. (2000)

August 28, 1963

It is a hot summer day in Washington, D.C.
More than 250,000 people are pouring into the city.
They have come by plane, by train, by car, and by bus.

From MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. AND THE MARCH ON
WASHINGTON: ALL ABOARD READING by Frances E.
Ruffin,
illustrated by Stephen Marchesi. Text © 2001 by Frances E.
Ruffin. Illustrations © 2001 by Stephen Marchesi. Used by
permission of Grosset & Dunlap, A Division of Penguin Young
Readers Group, A Member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
All rights reserved.

St. George, Judith. So You Want to Be President? Illustrated by
David Small. New York: Philomel, 2000. (2000)

Every single President has taken this oath: “I do solemnly swear
(or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the office of
President of the United States, and will to the best of my
ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the
United States.”

Only thirty-five words! But it’s a big order if you’re President
of this country. Abraham Lincoln was tops at filling that
order. “I know very well that many others might in this matter
or as in others, do better than I can,” he said. “But…I am
here. I must do the best I can, and bear the responsibility of
taking the course which I feel I ought to take.”

That’s the bottom line. Tall, short, fat, thin, talkative, quiet,
vain, humble, lawyer, teacher, or soldier—this is what most
of our Presidents have tried to do, each in his own way. Some
succeeded. Some failed. If you want to be President—

a good President—pattern your self after the best. Our best have
asked more of themselves than they thought they
could give. They have had the courage, spirit, and will to do
what they knew was right. Most of all, their first priority
has always been the people and the country they served.

From SO YOU WANT TO BE PRESIDENT? By Judith St.
George, illustrated by David Small. Text © 2000 by Judith
St. George. Illustrations © 2000 by David Small. Used by
permission of Philomel Books, A Division of Penguin Young
Readers Group, A Member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc, all
rights reserved.

Einspruch, Andrew. Crittercam. National Geographic Windows
on Literacy Series. Washington, D.C.: National
Geographic, 2004. (2004)

Kudlinski, Kathleen V. Boy, Were We Wrong About Dinosaurs.
Illustrated by S. D. Schindler. New York: Dutton, 2005.
(2005)

Long, long ago, before people knew anything about dinosaurs,
giant bones were found in China. Wise men who saw
the bones tried to guess what sort of enormous animal they
could have come from.

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After they studied the fossil bones, the ancient Chinese decided
that they came from dragons. They thought these
dragons must have been magic dragons to be so large. And they
believed that dragons could still be alive.

Boy, were they wrong!

No one knows exactly what dinosaurs looked like. All that is
left of them are fossil bones and a few other clues. Now
that we think that many of our own past guesses about dinosaurs
were just as wrong as those of ancient China.

Some of our mistakes were little ones. When the first fossil
bones of Iguanodon were found, one was shaped like a
rhino’s horn. Scientists guessed that the strange horn fit like a
spike on Iguanodon’s nose

Boy, were we wrong about Iguanodon!

When a full set of fossil bones was found later, there were two
pointed bones, they were part of Iguanodon’s hands,
not its nose!

Other new clues show us that we may have been wrong about
every kind of dinosaur.

Some of our first drawings of dinosaurs showed them with their
elbows and knees pointing out to the side, like a
lizard’s. With legs like that, big dinosaurs could only waddle
clumsily on all fours or float underwater.

Now we know that their legs were straight under them, like a
horse’s. Dinosaurs were not clumsy. The sizes and
shapes of their leg bones see to show that some were as fast and
graceful as deer.

From BOY, WERE WE WRONG ABOUT DINOSAURS by
Kathleen Kudlinski, illustrated by S.D. Schindler. Text copy-
right © 2005 by Kathleen V. Kudlinski. Illustrations © 2005 by
S.D. Schindler. Used by permission of Dutton Children’s
Books, A Division of Penguin Young Readers Group, A Member
of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. All rights reserved.

Davies, Nicola. Bat Loves the Night. Illustrated by Sarah Fox-
Davies. Cambridge, Mass.: Candlewick, 2001. (2001)

Floca, Brian. Moonshot: The Flight of Apollo 11. New York:
Atheneum, 2009. (2009)

High above there is the Moon, cold and quiet, no air, no life,
but glowing in the sky.

Here below there are three men who close themselves in special
clothes, who—click—lock hands in heavy gloves,
who—click—lock heads in large round helmets.

It is summer here in Florida, hot, and near the sea. But now
these men are dressed for colder, stranger places. They
walk with stiff and awkward steps in suits not made for Earth.

They have studied and practiced and trained, and said good-bye

to family and friends. If all goes well, they will be
gone for one week, gone where no one has been.

Their two small spaceships are Columbia and Eagle. They sit
atop the rocket that will raise them into space, a monster
of a machine: It stands thirty stories, it weighs six million
pounds, a tower full of fuel and fire and valves and pipes and
engines, too big to believe, but built to fly—the mighty,
massive Saturn V.

The astronauts squeeze in to Columbia’s sideways seats, lying
on their backs, facing toward the sky—Neil Armstrong
on the left, Michael Collins in the right, Buzz Aldrin in the
middle.

Click and they fasten straps.

Click and the hatch is sealed.

There they wait, while the Saturn hums beneath them.

Near the rocket, in Launch Control, and far away in Houston, in
Mission Control, there are numbers, screens, and
charts, ways of watching and checking every piece of the rocket
and ships, the fuel, the valves, the pipes, the engines,
the beats of the astronauts’ hearts.

As the countdown closes, each man watching is asked the
question: GO/NO GO?

And each man answers back: “GO.” “GO.” “GO.”

Apollo 11 is GO for launch.

Reprinted with the permission of Atheneum Books for Young
Readers, an imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Pub-

lishing Division from MOONSHOT: The Flight of Apollo 11 by
Brian Floca. Copyright © 2009 by Brian Floca.

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Thomson, Sarah L. Where Do Polar Bears Live? Illustrated by
Jason Chin. New York: HarperCollins, 2010. (2010)

This island is covered with snow. No trees grow. Nothing has
green leaves. The land is white as far as you can see.

Then something small and round and black pokes up out of the
snow.

A black nose sniffs the air. Then a smooth white head appears.
A mother polar bear heaves herself out of her den.

A cub scrambles after her.

When the cub was born four months ago, he was no bigger than
a guinea pig. Blind and helpless, he snuggled in his
mother’s fur. He drank her milk and grew, safe from the long
Arctic winter.

Outside the den, on some days, it was fifty degrees below zero.
From October to February, the sun never rose.

Now it is spring—even though snow still covers the land. The
cub is about the size of a cocker spaniel. He’s ready to
leave the den. For the first time, he sees bright sunlight and
feels the wind ruffle his fur

The cub tumbles and slides down icy hills. His play makes him
strong and teaches him to walk and run in snow.

Like his mother, he cub is built to survive in the Arctic. Hi
white fur will grow to be six inches thick—longer than your
hand. The skin beneath the cub’s fur is black. It soaks up the
heat of the sun. Under the skin is a layer of fat. Like a
snug blanket, this blubber keeps in the heat of the bear’s body.

Polar bears get too hot more easily than they get too cold. They
stretch out on the ice to cool off.

Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Read-Aloud Informational Texts

Freedman, Russell. Lincoln: A Photobiography. New York:
Houghton Mifflin, 1989. (1987)
From Chapter One: “The Mysterious Mr. Lincoln”

Abraham Lincoln wasn’t the sort of man who could lose himself

in a crowd. After all, he stood six feet four inches tall.
And to top it off, he wore a high silk hat.

His height was mostly in his long bony legs. When he sat in a
chair, he seemed no taller than anyone else. I was only
when he stood up that he towered over other men.

At first glance, most people thought he was homely. Lincoln
thought so too, once referring to his “poor, lean, lank
face.” As a young man he was sensitive about his gawky looks,
but in time, he learned to laugh at himself. When a
rival called him “two-faced” during a political debate, Lincoln
replied: “I leave it to my audience. If I had another face,
do you think I’d wear this one?”

According to those who knew him, Lincoln was a man of many
faces. In repose, he often seemed sad and gloomy.
But when he began to speak, his expression changed. “The dull,
listless features dropped like a mask,” said a Chicago
newspaperman. “The eyes began to sparkle, the mouth to smile,
the whole countenance was wreathed in animation,
so that a stranger would have said, ‘Why, this man, so angular
and solemn a moment ago, is really handsome.’”

Lincoln was the most photographed man of his time, but his
friends insisted that no photo ever did him justice. It’s no
wonder. Back then cameras required long exposures. The person
being photographed had to “freeze” as the seconds
ticked by. If he blinked an eye, the picture would be blurred.
That’s why Lincoln looks so stiff and formal in his photos.
We never see him laughing or joking.

Coles, Robert. The Story of Ruby Bridges. Illustrated by George
Ford. New York: Scholastic, 1995. (1995)

Ruby Bridges was born in a small cabin near Tylertown,

Mississippi.

“We were very poor, very, very poor,” Ruby said. “My daddy
worked picking crops. We just barely got by. There were

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times when we didn’t have much to eat. The people who owned
the land were bringing in machines to pick the crops,
so my daddy lost his job, and that’s when we had to move.

“I remember us leaving. I was four, I think.”

In 1957, the family moved to New Orleans. Ruby’s father
became a janitor. Her mother took care of the children dur-
ing the day. After they were tucked in bed, Ruby’s mother went
to work scrubbing floors in a bank.

Every Sunday, the family went to church.

“We wanted our children to be near God’s spirit,” Ruby’s
mother said. “We wanted them to start feeling close to Him
from the start.”

At that time, black children and white children went to separate
schools in New Orleans. The black children were not
able to receive the same education as the white children. It
wasn’t fair. And it was against the nation’s law.

In 1960, a judge ordered four black girls to go to two white
elementary schools. Three of the girls were sent to Mc-
Donogh 19. Six-year-old Ruby Bridges was sent to first grade
in the William Frantz Elementary School.

Ruby’s parents were proud that their daughter had been chosen
to take part in an important event in American his-
tory. They went to church.

“We sat there and prayed to God,” Ruby’s mother said, “that
we’d all be strong and we’d have courage and we’d get
through any trouble; and Ruby would be a good girl and she’d
hold her head up high and be a credit to her own
people and a credit to all the American people. We prayed long
and we prayed hard.”

On Ruby’s first day, a large crowd of angry white people
gathered outside the Frantz Elementary School. The people
carried signs that said they didn’t want black children in a white
school. People called Ruby names; some wanted to
hurt her. The city and state police did not help Ruby.

The President of the United States ordered federal marshals to
walk with Ruby into the school building. The marshals

carried guns.

Every day, for weeks that turned into months, Ruby experienced
that kind of school day.

She walked to the Frantz School surrounded by marshals.
Wearing a clean dress and a bow in her hair and carry-
ing her lunch pail, Ruby walked slowly for the first few blocks.
As Ruby approached the school, she saw a crowd of
people marching up and down the street. Men and women and
children shouted at her. They pushed toward her.
The marshals kept them from Ruby by threatening to arrest
them.

Ruby would hurry through the crowd and not say a word.

From THE STORY OF RUBY BRIDGES by Robert Col es.
Copyright © 1995 by Robert Coles. Used by permission of
Scholastic Inc.

Wick, Walter. A Drop of Water: A Book of Science and
Wonder. New York: Scholastic, 1997. (1997)

From “Soap Bubbles”

There are few objects you can make that have both the dazzling
beauty and delicate precision of a soap bubble.
Shown here at actual size, this bubble is a nearly perfect sphere.
Its shimmering liquid skin is five hundred times thin-
ner than a human hair.

Bubbles made of plain water break almost as quickly as they
form. That’s because surface tension is so strong the
bubbles collapse. Adding soap to water weakens water’s
surface tension. This allows a film of soapy water to stretch
and stretch without breaking.

When you blow a bubble, it looks somewhat like a drop of water
emerging from a faucet. And just like the surface of
a drop of water, the bubble’s surface shrinks to form a sphere.
Spheres and circles are mathematical shapes. Because
they can form spontaneously, they are also shapes of nature.

From A DROP OF WATER: A BOOK OF SCIENCE AND
WONDER by Walter Wick. Scholastic Inc./Scholastic Press.
Copyright © 1997 by Walter Wick. Used by permission.

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Smith, David J. If the World Were a Village: A Book about the
World’s People. Illustrated by Shelagh Armstrong.
Toronto: Kids Can Press, 2002. (2002)
From “Welcome to the Global Village”

Earth is a crowded place and it is getting more crowded all the
time. As for January 1, 2002 the world’s population
was 6 billion, 200 million—that’s 6,200,000,000. Twenty-three
countries have more than fifty million (50,000,000)
people. Ten countries each have more than one hundred million
(100,000,000) people. China has nearly one billion,
three hundred million people (1,3000,000,000).

Numbers like this are hard to understand, but what if we
imagined the whole population of the world as a village of
just 100 people? In this imaginary village, each person would
represent about sixty-two million (62,000,000) people
from the real world.

One hundred people would fit nicely into a small village. By
learning about the villagers—who they are and how they
live—perhaps we can find out more about our neighbors in the
real world and the problems our planet may face in the
future.

Ready to enter the global village? Go down into the valley and
walk through the gates. Dawn is chasing away the
night shadows. The smell of wood smoke hangs in the air. A
baby awakes and cries.

Come and meet the people of the global village.

Material from If the World Were a Village: A Book about the
World’s People written by David J. Smith is used by per-
mission of Kids Can Press Ltd., Toronto. Text © 2002 David J.
Smith.

Aliki. Ah, Music! New York: Harper Collins, 2005. (2003)

What is music?

Music is sound.
If you hum a tune, play an instrument, or clap out a rhythm, you
are making music. You are listening to it, too.

[…]

Music through the Ages

Music grew from one century to the next. In the early and
middle ages, new forms of music developed. Christianity
inspired church music. Music became polyphonic—played and
sung in two or more melodic parts. Notations were
invented. Music was no longer a one-time performance. Now it
would be written and preserved for other musicians
and generations.

Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Mark, Jan. The Museum Book: A Guide to Strange and
Wonderful Collections. Illustrated by Richard Holland.
Cambridge, Mass.: Candlewick, 2007. (2007)
From Chapter One

Suppose you went into a museum and you didn’t know what it
was. Imagine: it’s raining, there’s a large building
nearby with an open door, and you don’t have to pay to go in.
It looks like an ancient Greek temple. Temples are
places of worship, so you’d better go in quietly.

But inside it doesn’t seem much like any temple or mosque or
church you have ever been in. That is, it looks like all of
them, but the furniture is out of place. Perhaps it’s a hotel; it
has fifty rooms, but there is only one bed, although it is
a very splendid bed. Apparently Queen Elizabeth I slept in it.
Or perhaps there are fifty beds, but they are all in one
room and you can’t sleep in any of them. There are red velvet

ropes to keep you out.

Farther down the corridor you notice a steam locomotive. It’s a
train station! But there is no track except for a few
yards that the engine is resting on, and already you have seen
something else. Across the hall is a totem pole that
goes right up to the roof, standing next to a Viking ship.
Beyond it is a room full of glass cases displaying rocks, more
kinds of rocks than you ever knew existed, from diamonds to
meteorites. From where you are standing, you can see
into the next room, where the glass cases are full of stuffed
fish; and the next, which is lined with shelves of Roman
pottery; and the next, which is crowded with birds; and after
that, lions and giraffes and pandas and whales.

It must be a zoo.

[…]

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Just then you see someone walking toward you who isn’t dead—
you hope. He is wearing a uniform with a badge on it
that reads Guide.

“Enjoying yourself?” he says.

You say, “Where did you get all this stuff?”

“All?” he says. “These are just the things we show to the
public. Down in the basement there’s a hundred thousand
times more. Do you know,” he murmurs, “we’ve got twenty-
seven two-headed sheep?”

“But why?” you ask. “Why do you have any two-headed sheep.

“Because people give them to us,” he says. “And so that you
can look at them. Where else would you see one?
Where else would you be able to see the mummy case of King
Tutankhamun, the first plane to fly the Atlantic, the
first train engine, the last dodo, a diplodocus, the astrolabe of
Ahmad of Isfahan (an example of the oldest scientific
instrument in the world), chicken-skin gloves, the lantern
carried by Guy Fawkes when he went to blow up the British
Parliament buildings, a murderer’s trigger finger—?”

“But where am I?” you say. “What is this place?”

And he says, “It’s a museum.”

THE MUSEUM BOOK. Text Copyrig ht © 2007 Jan Mark.
Reproduced by permission of the publisher, Candlewick Press,
Somerville, MA.

D’Aluisio, Faith. What the World Eats. Photographed by Peter
Menzel. New York: Random House, 2008. (2008)

Arnosky, Jim. Wild Tracks! A Guide to Nature’s Footprints.
New York: Sterling, 2008. (2008)

“Feline Tracks”

Of all the larger predators, wildcats are the most likely to use
the same trails again and again. In deep snow, their
habitual routes become gully trails in which the feline tracks
going to and coming from their hunting grounds are
preserved, down out of the wind, away from blowing snow.

A cat’s sharp retractable claws do not show in its track unless
the cat has lunged to catch its prey or scratched the
ground to cover its droppings. Only cats thoroughly cover their
droppings.

Bobcat, lion, and jaguar paws all have three-lobed heels. The
lynx, the ocelot, and the jaguarondi have single lobed-
heels.

The wildcats we have in North America are, from the smallest
to the largest: ocelot, jaguarondi, bobcat, lynx, Ameri-
can lion, and jaguar.

From Wild Tracks! A Guide to Nature’s Footprints © 2008 by
Jim Arnosky. Used with permission from Sterling Publish-
ing Co., Inc.

Deedy, Carmen Agra. 14 Cows for America. In collaboration
with Wilson Kimeli Naiyomah. Illustrated by Thomas
Gonzalez. Atlanta: Peachtree, 2009. (2009)

The remote village waits for a story to be told. News travels
slowly to this corner of Kenya. As Kimeli nears his vil-
lage, he watches a herd of bull giraffes cross the open
grassland. He smiles. He has been away a long time.

A girl sitting under a guava tree sees him first and cries out to
the others. The children run to him with the speed and
grace of cheetahs. He greets them with a gentle touch on his
head, a warrior’s blessing.

The rest of the tribe soon surrounds Kimeli. These are his
people. These are the Maasai.

Once they were feared warriors. Now they live peaceably as
nomadic cattle herders. They treat their cows as kindly
as they do their children. They sign to them. They give them
names. They shelter the young ones in their homes.
Without the herd, the tribe might starve. To the Maasai, the
cow is life.

“Súpa. Hello,” Kimeli hears again and again. Everyone wants
to greet him. His eyes find his mother across the en-
káng, the ring of huts with their roofs of sun-baked dung. She
spreads her arms and calls to him, “Aakúa. Welcome,
my son.” Kimeli sighs. He is home.

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This is sweeter and sadder because he cannot stay. He must
return to the faraway country where he is learning to be
a doctor. He thinks of New York then. He remembers
September.

A child asks if he has brought any stories. Kimeli nods. He has
brought with him one story. It has burned a hole in his
heart.

But first he must speak with the elders.

Later, in a tradition as old as the Maasai, the rest of the tribe
gathers under an acacia tree to hear the story. There is
a terrible stillness in the air as the tale unfolds. With growing
disbelief, men, women, and children listen. Buildings so
tall they can touch the sky? Fires so hot they can melt iron?
Smoke and dust so thick they can block out the sun?

The story ends. More than three thousand souls are lost. A
great silence falls over the Maasai. Kimeli waits. He
knows his people. They are fierce when provoked, but easily
moved to kindness when they hear of suffering or injus-
tice.

At last, an elder speaks. He is shaken, but above all, he is sad.

“What can we do for these poor people?” Nearby, a
cow lows. Heads turn toward the herd. “To the Maasai,”
Kimeli says softly, “the cow is life.”

Turning to the elders, Kimeli offers his only cow, Enkarûs. He
asks for their blessing. They give it gladly. But they
want to offer something more.

The tribe sends word to the United States Embassy in Nairobi.
In response, the embassy sends a diplomat. His jeep
jounces along the dusty, rugged roads. He is hot and tired. He
thinks he is going to meet with Maasai elders. He can-
not be more wrong. As the jeep nears the edge of the village the
man sits up. Clearly, this is no ordinary diplomatic
visit. This is…

…a ceremony. Hundreds of Maasai greet the American in full
tribal splendor. At the sight of the brilliant blood-red
tunics and spectacular beaded collars, he can only marvel.

It is a day of sacred ritual. Young warriors dance, leaping into
the air like fish from a stream. Women sing mournful
songs. Children fill their bellies with milk. Speeches are
exchanged. And now it is time.

Kimeli and his people gather on a sacred knoll, far from the
village. The only sound is the gentle chiming of cowbells.
The elders chant a blessing in Maa as the Maasai people of
Kenya present…

…fourteen cows for America.

Because there is no nation so powerful it cannot be wounded,
nor a people so small they cannot offer mighty com-
fort.

Copyright © 2009 by Carmen Agra Deedy. Used by permission.

Sample Performance Tasks for Informational Texts

• Students read Aliki’s description of A Medieval Feast and
demonstrate their understanding of all that goes into
such an event by asking questions pertaining to who, what,
where, when, why, and how such a meal happens
and by answering using key details. [RI.2.1]

• Students describe the reasons behind Joyce Milton’s
statement that bats are nocturnal in her Bats: Creatures
of the Night and how she supports the points she is making in
the text. [RI.2.8]

• Students read Selby Beeler’s Throw Your Tooth on the
Roof: Tooth Traditions Around the World and identify
what Beeler wants to answer as well as explain the main
purpose of the text. [RI.2.6]

• Students determine the meanings of words and phrases
encountered in Sarah L. Thomson’s Where Do Polar
Bears Live?, such as cub, den, , and the Arctic. [RI.2.4]

• Students explain how the main idea that Lincoln had
“many faces” in Russell Freedman’s Lincoln: A Photobiog-
raphy is supported by key details in the text. [RI.3.2]

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• Students read Robert Coles’s retelling of a series of
historical events in The Story of Ruby Bridges. Using their
knowledge of how cause and effect gives order to events, they
use specific language to describe the sequence
of events that leads to Ruby desegregating her school. [RI.3.3]

• Students explain how the specific image of a soap bubble
and other accompanying illustrations in Walter
Wick’s A Drop of Water: A Book of Science and Wonder
contribute to and clarify their understanding of
bubbles and water. [RI.2.7]

• Students use text features, such as the table of contents
and headers, found in Aliki’s text Ah, Music! to identify
relevant sections and locate information relevant to a given
topic (e.g., rhythm, instruments, harmony) quickly
and efficiently. [RI.3.5]

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Grades 4–5 text exemplars

Stories

Carroll, Lewis. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Illustrated
by John Tenniel. New York: William Morrow, 1992.
(1865)
From Chapter 1: “Down the Rabbit-Hole”

Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on
the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice
she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had
no pictures or conversations in it, ‘and what is the use
of a book,’ thought Alice ‘without pictures or conversation?’

So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could,
for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid),
whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth
the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when
suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.

There was nothing so VERY remarkable in that; nor did Alice
think it so VERY much out of the way to hear the Rabbit
say to itself, ‘Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!’ (when she
thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought
to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite
natural); but when the Rabbit actually TOOK A WATCH
OUT OF ITS WAISTCOAT -POCKET, and looked at it, and then
hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across
her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a
waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and
burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and
fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large
rabbit-hole under the hedge.

In another moment down went Alice after it, never once
considering how in the world she was to get out again.

Burnett, Frances Hodgson. The Secret Garden. New York:
HarperCollins, 1985. (1911)
From “There’s No One Left”

When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live
with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagree-
able-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little
thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour
expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow
because she had been born in India and had always been ill
in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the
English Government and had always been busy and ill
himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only
to go to parties and amuse herself with gay people.
She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary was born
she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was
made to understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib
she must keep the child out of sight as much as pos-

sible. So when she was a sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was
kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly,
fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. She
never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark
faces of her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they
always obeyed her and gave her her own way in every-
thing, because the Mem Sahib would be angry if she was
disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years old
she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. The
young English governess who came to teach her to read
and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in
three months, and when other governesses came to try
to fill it they always went away in a shorter time than the first
one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to know
how to read books she would never have learned her letters at
all.

One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old,
she awakened feeling very cross, and she became
crosser still when she saw that the servant who stood by her
bedside was not her Ayah.

“Why did you come?” she said to the strange woman. “I will not
let you stay. Send my Ayah to me.”

The woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the
Ayah could not come and when Mary threw herself
into a passion and beat and kicked her, she looked only more
frightened and repeated that it was not possible for the
Ayah to come to Missie Sahib.

There was something mysterious in the air that morning.
Nothing was done in its regular order and several of the
native servants seemed missing, while those whom Mary saw
slunk or hurried about with ashy and scared faces. But
no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. She

was actually left alone as the morning went on, and
at last she wandered out into the garden and began to play by
herself under a tree near the veranda. She pretended
that she was making a flower-bed, and she stuck big scarlet
hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth, all the time

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growing more and more angry and muttering to herself the
things she would say and the names she would call Saidie
when she returned.

Farley, Walter. The Black Stallion. New York: Random House
Books for Young Readers, 2008. (1941)
From Chapter 1: “Homeward Bound”

The tramp steamer Drake plowed away from the coast of India

and pushed its blunt prow into the Arabian Sea, home-
ward bound. Slowly it made its way west toward the Gulf of
Aden. Its hold was loaded with coffee, rice, tea, oil seeds
and jute. Black smoke poured from its one stack, darkening the
hot cloudless sky.

Alexander Ramsay, Jr., known to his friends back home in New
York City as Alec, leaned over the rail and watched the
water slide away from the sides of the boat. His red hair blazed
redder than ever in the hot sun, his tanned elbows
rested heavily on the rail as he turned his freckled face back
toward the fast-disappearing shore.

Saint-Exupéry, Antoine de. The Little Prince. Translated by
Richard Howard. Orlando: Harcourt, 2000. (1943)

Babbitt, Natalie. Tuck Everlasting. New York: Farrar, Straus
and Giroux, 1975. (1975)
From Chapter 12

The sky was a ragged blaze of red and pink and orange, and its
double trembled on the surface of the pond like color
spilled from a paintbox. The sun was dropping fast now, a soft
red sliding egg yolk, and already to the east there was
a darkening to purple. Winnie, newly brave with her thoughts of
being rescued, climbed boldly into the rowboat. The
hard heels of her buttoned boots made a hollow banging sound
against its wet boards, loud in the warm and breath-
less quiet. Across the pond a bullfrog spoke a deep note of
warning. Tuck climbed in, too, pushing off, and, settling
the oars into their locks, dipped them into the silty bottom in
one strong pull. The rowboat slipped from the bank
then, silently, and glided out, tall water grasses whispering
away from its sides, releasing it.

Here and there the still surface of the water dimpled, and bright

rings spread noiselessly and vanished. “Feeding
time,” said Tuck softly. And Winnie, looking down, saw hosts
of tiny insects skittering and skating on the surface.
“Best time of all for fishing,” he said, “when they come up to
feed.”

He dragged on the oars. The rowboat slowed and began to drift
gently toward the farthest end of the pond. It was so
quiet that Winnie almost jumped when the bullfrog spoke again.
And then, from the tall pines and birches that ringed
the pond, a wood thrush caroled. The silver notes were pure and
clear and lovely.

“Know what that is, all around us, Winnie?” said Tuck, his
voice low. “Life. Moving, growing, changing, never the same
two minutes together. This water, you look out at it every
morning, and it looks the same, but it ain’t. All night long it’s
been moving, coming in through the stream back there to the
west, slipping out through the stream down east here,
always quiet, always new, moving on. You can’t hardly see the
current, can you? And sometimes the wind makes it
look like it’s going the other way. But it’s always there, the
water’s always moving on, and someday, after a long while,
it comes to the ocean.”

Singer, Isaac Bashevis. “Zlateh the Goat.” Zlateh the Goat and
Other Stories. New York: HarperCollins, 2001. (1984)

The snow fell for three days, though after the first day it was
not as thick and the wind quieted down. Sometimes
Aaron felt that there could never have been a summer, that the
snow had always fallen, ever since he could remember.
He, Aaron, never had a father or mother or sisters. He was a
snow child, born of the snow, and so was Zlateh. It was
so quiet in the hay that his ears rang in the stillness. Aaron and
Zlateh slept all night and a good part of the day. As

for Aaron’s dreams, they were all about warm weather. He
dreamed of green fields, trees covered with blossoms, clear
brooks, and singing birds. By the third night the snow had
stopped, but Aaron did not dare to find his way home in
the darkness. The sky became clear and the moon shone, casting
silvery nets on the snow. Aaron dug his way out and
looked at the world. It was all white, quiet, dreaming dreams of
heavenly splendor. The stars were large and close. The
moon swam in the sky as in a sea.

Hamilton, Virginia. M. C. Higgins, the Great. New York: Simon
& Schuster, 1999. (1993)
From Chapter 1

Mayo Cornelius Higgins raised his arms high to the sky and
spread them wide. He glanced furtively around. It was all
right. There was no one to see him greeting the coming sunrise.
But the motion of his arms caused a flutter of lettuce
leaves he had bound to his wrists with rubber bands. Like
bracelets of green feathers, the leaves commenced to wave.

M. C., as he was called, felt warm, moist air surround him.
Humidity trapped in the hills clung to the mountainside

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as the night passed on. In seconds, his skin grew clammy. But
he paid no attention to the oppressive heat with its
odors of summer growth and decay. For he was staring out over
a grand sweep of hill, whose rolling outlines grew
clearer by the minute. As he stood on the gallery of his home,
the outcropping on which he lived on the mountainside
seemed to fade out from under him.

I’m standing in midair, he thought.

He saw dim light touch clouds clustered behind the eastern
hills.

Bounce the sun beside me if I want.

All others of his family were still asleep in the house. To be by
himself in the perfect quiet was reason enough for
him to wake up way early. Alone for half an hour, he could
believe he had been chosen to remain forever suspended,
facing the hills. He could pretend there was nothing terrible
behind him, above his head. Arms outstretched, picture-
framed by pine uprights supporting the gallery roof, he was
M.C. Higgins, higher than everything.

Erdrich, Louise. The Birchbark House. New York: Hyperion,
1999. (1999)
From Chapter 1: “The Birchbark House”

She was named Omakayas, or Little Frog, because her first step
was a hop. She grew into a nimble young girl of seven
winters, a thoughtful girl with shining brown eyes and a wide
grin, only missing her two top front teeth. She touched
her upper lip. She wasn’t used to those teeth gone, and was
impatient for new, grown-up teeth to complete her smile.
Just like her namesake, Omakayas now stared long at a silky
patch of bog before she gathered herself and jumped.
One hummock. Safety. Omaykayas sprang wide again. This time
she landed on the very tip-top of a pointed old
stump. She balanced there, looking all around. The lagoon water
moved in sparkling crescents. Thick swales of swamp
grass rippled. Mud turtles napped in the sun. The world was so
calm that Omakayas could hear herself blink. Only the
sweet call of a solitary white-throated sparrow pierced the cool
of the woods beyond.

All of a sudden Grandma yelled.

“I found it!”

Startled, Omakayas slipped and spun her arms in wheels. She
teetered, but somehow kept her balance. Two big, skip-
ping hops, another leap, and she was on dry land. She stepped
over spongy leaves and moss, into the woods where
the sparrows sang nesting songs in delicate relays.

“Where are you?” Nokomis yelled again. “I found the tree!”

“I’m coming,” Omakayas called back to her grandmother.

It was spring, time to cut Birchbark.

Curtis, Christopher Paul. Bud, Not Buddy. New York: Delacorte
Books for Young Readers, 1999. (1999)

(Also listed as a read-aloud narrative for grades 2–3)
From Chapter 1

Here we go again. We were all standing in line waiting for
breakfast when one of the caseworkers came in and tap-
tap-tapped down the line. Uh-oh, this meant bad news, either
they’d found a foster home for somebody or some-
body was about to get paddled. All the kids watched the woman
as she moved along the line, her high-heeled shoes
sounding like little fire-crackers going off on the wooden floor.

Shoot! She stopped at me and said, “Are you Buddy Caldwell?”

I said, “It’s Bud, not Buddy, ma’am.”

She put her hand on my shoulder and took me out of the line.
Then she pulled Jerry, one of the littler boys, over.
“Aren’t you Jerry Clark?” He nodded.

“Boys, good news! Now that the school year has ended, you
both have been accepted in new temporary-care homes
starting this afternoon!”

Jerry asked the same thing I was thinking, “Together?”

She said, “Why no, Jerry, you’ll by in a family with three little
girls…”

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Jerry looked like he’d just found out they were going to dip him
in a pot of boiling milk.

“…and Bud…” She looked at some papers she was holding.
“Oh, yes, the Amoses, you’ll be with Mr. and Mrs. Amos and
their son, who’s twelve years old, that makes him just two years
older than you, doesn’t it, Bud?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She said, “I’m sure you’ll both be very happy.”

Me and Jerry looked at each other.

The woman said, “Now, now, boys, no need to look so glum, I
know you don’t understand what it means, but there’s a
depression going on all over this country. People can’t find jobs
and these are very, very difficult times for everybody.
We’ve been lucky enough to find two wonderful families
who’ve opened their doors for you. I think it’s best that we
show our new foster families that we’re very…”

She dragged out the word very, waiting for us to finish her

sentence for her.

Jerry said, “Cheerful, helpful and grateful.” I moved my lips
and mumbled.

Lin, Grace. Where the Mountain Meets the Moon. New York:
Little, Brown, 2009. (2009)
From Chapter 1

Far away from here, following the Jade River, there was once a
black mountain that cut into the sky like a jagged
piece of rough metal. The villagers called it Fruitless Mountain
because nothing grew on it and birds and animals did
not rest there.

Crowded in the corner of where Fruitless Mountain and the Jade
River met was a village that was a shade of faded
brown. This was because the land around the village was hard
and poor. To coax rice out of the stubborn land, the
field had to be flooded with water. The villagers had to tramp in
the mud, bending and stooping and planting day
after day. Working in the mud so much made it spread
everywhere and the hot sun dried it onto their clothes and hair
and homes. Over time, everything in the village had become the
dull color of dried mud.

One of the houses in this village was so small that its wood
boards, held together by the roof, made one think of a
bunch of matches tied with a piece of twine. Inside, there was
barely enough room for three people to sit around the
table—which was lucky because only three people lived there.
One of them was a young girl called Minli.

Minli was not brown and dull like the rest of the village. She
had glossy black hair with pink cheeks, shining eyes al-
ways eager for adventure, and a fast smile that flashed from her

face. When people saw her lively and impulsive spirit,
they thought her name, which meant quick thinking, suited her
well. “Too well,” her mother sighed, as Minli had a habit
of quick acting as well.

Poetry

Blake, William. “The Echoing Green.” Songs of Innocence.
New York: Dover, 1971. (1789)

The sun does arise,
And make happy the skies;
The merry bells ring
To welcome the Spring;
The skylark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around
To the bells’ cheerful sound;
While our sports shall be seen
On the echoing green.

Old John, with white hair,
Does laugh away care,
Sitting under the oak,
Among the old folk.
They laugh at our play,

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And soon they all say,
‘Such, such were the joys
When we all—girls and boys—
In our youth-time were seen
On the echoing green.’

Till the little ones, weary,
No more can be merry:
The sun does descend,
And our sports have an end.
Round the laps of their mothers
Many sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their nest,
Are ready for rest,
And sport no more seen
On the darkening green.

Lazarus, Emma. “The New Colossus.” Favorite Poems Old and
New. Edited by Helen Ferris. New York: Doubleday,
1957. (1883)

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

Media Text
Photos, multimedia, and a virtual tour of the Statue of Liberty,
hosted on the National Parks Service’s Web site: http://
www.nps.gov/stli/photosmultimedia/index.htm

Thayer, Ernest Lawrence. “Casey at the Bat.” Favorite Poems
Old and New. Edited by Helen Ferris. New York:
Doubleday, 1957. (1888)

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought if only Casey could but get a whack at that–
We’d put up even money now with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey’s getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had
occurred,
There was Johnnie safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,

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For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey’s bearing and a smile on Casey’s face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,

No stranger in the crowd could doubt ‘twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with
dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his
shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey’s eye, a sneer curled Casey’s lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the
air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped–
“That ain’t my style,” said Casey. “Strike one,” the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled
roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant
shore.
“Kill him! Kill the umpire!” shouted some one on the stand;
And it’s likely they’d have killed him had not Casey raised his
hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the sphereoid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, “Strike two.”

“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered
fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles
strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn’t let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey’s lip, his teeth are clenched in

hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey’s blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children
shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville–mighty Casey has struck out.

Dickinson, Emily. “A Bird Came Down the Walk.” The
Compete Poems of Emily Dickinson. Boston: Little, Brown,
1960. (1893)

A Bird came down the walk—

He did not know I saw;
He bit an angleworm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.

And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
To let a beetle pass.

He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad—
They looked like frightened beads, I thought—
He stirred his velvet head —

Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers

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And rowed him softer home

Than oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,

Leap, plashless, as they swim.

Sandburg, Carl. “Fog.” Chicago Poems. New York: Henry Holt,
1916. (1916)

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city

on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Frost, Robert. “Dust of Snow.” The Poetry of Robert Frost: The
Collected Poems, Complete and Unabridged. New
York: Henry Holt, 1969. (1923)

Dahl, Roald. “Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf.” Roald
Dahl’s Revolting Rhymes. New York: Knopf, 2002. (1982)

Nichols, Grace. “They Were My People.” Come On Into My
Tropical Garden. New York: HarperCollins, 1990. (1988)

Mora, Pat. “Words Free As Confetti.” Confetti: Poems for
Children. Illustrated by Enrique O. Sanchez. New York: Lee
and Low, 1999. (1996)

Come, words, come in your every color.
I’ll toss you in storm or breeze.
I’ll say, say, say you,
Taste you sweet as plump plums,
bitter as old lemons,
I’ll sniff you, words, warm
as almonds or tart as apple-red,
feel you green
and soft as new grass,
lightweight as dandelion plumes,
or thorngray as cactus,
heavy as black cement,
cold blue as icicles,
warm as abuelita’s yellowlap.
I’ll hear you, words, loud as searoar’s
Purple crash, hushed
as gatitos curled in sleep,
as the last goldlullaby.
I’ll see you long and dark as tunnels,

bright as rainbows,
playful as chestnutwind.
I’ll watch you, words, rise and dance and spin.
I’ll say, say, say you
in English,
in Spanish,
I’ll find you.
Hold you.
Toss you.
I’m free too.
I say yo soy libre,
I am free
free, free,
free as confetti.

Words Free As Confetti from the book Confetti, Poems For
Children text copyright © 1996 by Pat Mora. Permission
arranged with Lee & Low Books Inc, New York, NY 10016.

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Sample Performance Tasks for Stories and Poetry

• Students make connections between the visual
presentation of John Tenniel’s illustrations in Lewis Carroll’s
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and the text of the story to
identify how the pictures of Alice reflect specific
descriptions of her in the text. [RL.4.7]

• Students explain the selfish behavior by Mary and make
inferences regarding the impact of the cholera out-
break in Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden by
explicitly referring to details and examples from the
text. [RL.4.1]

• Students describe how the narrator’s point of view in
Walter Farley’s The Black Stallion influences how events
are described and how the reader perceives the character of
Alexander Ramsay, Jr. [RL.5.6]

• Students summarize the plot of Antoine de Saint-
Exupéry’s The Little Prince and then reflect on the challenges
facing the characters in the story while employing those and
other details in the text to discuss the value of
inquisitiveness and exploration as a theme of the story. [RL.5.2]

• Students read Natalie Babbitt’s Tuck Everlasting and
describe in depth the idyllic setting of the story, draw-
ing on specific details in the text, from the color of the sky to
the sounds of the pond, to describe the scene.
[RL.4.3]

• Students compare and contrast coming-of-age stories by

Christopher Paul Curtis (Bud, Not Buddy) and Louise
Erdrich (The Birchbark House) by identifying similar themes
and examining the stories’ approach to the topic
of growing up. [RL.5.9]

• Students refer to the structural elements (e.g., verse,
rhythm, meter) of Ernest Lawrence Thayer’s “Casey at the
Bat” when analyzing the poem and contrasting the impact and
differences of those elements to a prose sum-
mary of the poem. [RL.4.5]

• Students determine the meaning of the metaphor of a cat
in Carl Sandburg’s poem “Fog” and contrast that
figurative language to the meaning of the simile in William
Blake’s “The Echoing Green.” [RL.5.4]

Informational Texts

Berger, Melvin. Discovering Mars: The Amazing Story of the
Red Planet. New York: Scholastic, 1992. (1992)

Mars is very cold and very dry. Scattered across the surface are
many giant volcanoes. Lava covers much of the land.

In Mars’ northern half, or hemisphere, is a huge raised area. It
is about 2,500 miles wide. Astronomers call this the
Great Tharsis Bulge.

There are four mammoth volcanoes on the Great Tharsis Bulge.
The largest one is Mount Olympus, or Olympus Mons.
It is the biggest mountain on Mars. Some think it may be the
largest mountain in the entire solar system.

Mount Olympus is 15 miles high. At its peak is a 50 mile wide
basin. Its base is 375 miles across. That’s nearly as big as
the state of Texas!

Mauna Loa, in Hawaii, is the largest volcano on earth. Yet,
compared to Mount Olympus, Mauna Loa looks like a little
hill. The Hawaiian volcano is only 5½ miles high. Its base, on
the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, is just 124 miles wide.

Each of the three other volcanoes in the Great Tharsis Bulge are
over 10 miles high. They are named Arsia Mons, Pa-
vonis Mons, and Ascraeus Mons.

Media Text
NASA’s illustrated fact sheet on Mars:
http://www.nasa.gov/worldbook/mars_worldbook.html

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Carlisle, Madelyn Wood. Let’s Investigate Marvelously

Meaningful Maps. Hauppauge, New York: Barrons, 1992.
(1992)

Lauber, Patricia. Hurricanes: Earth’s Mightiest Storms. New
York: Scholastic, 1996. (1996)
From “The Making of a Hurricane”

Great whirling storms roar out of the oceans in many parts of
the world. They are called by several names—hurricane,
typhoon, and cyclone are the three most familiar ones. But no
matter what they are called, they are all the same sort
of storm. They are born in the same way, in tropical waters.
They develop the same way, feeding on warm, moist air.
And they do the same kind of damage, both ashore and at sea.
Other storms may cover a bigger area or have higher
winds, but none can match both the size and the fury of
hurricanes. They are earth’s mightiest storms.

Like all storms, they take place in the atmosphere, the envelope
of air that surrounds the earth and presses on its
surface. The pressure at any one place is always changing.
There are days when air is sinking and the atmosphere
presses harder on the surface. These are the times of high
pressure. There are days when a lot of air is rising and the
atmosphere does not press down as hard. These are times of low
pressure. Low-pressure areas over warm oceans
give birth to hurricanes.

From: HURRICANES: EARTH’S MIGHTIEST STORMS by
Patricia Lauber. Copyright © 1996 by Patricia Lauber. Used by
permission of Scholastic, Inc.

Otfinoski, Steve. The Kid’s Guide to Money: Earning It, Saving
It, Spending It, Growing It, Sharing It. New York:
Scholastic, 1996. (1996)

Wulffson, Don. Toys!: Amazing Stories Behind Some Great
Inventions. New York: Henry Holt, 2000. (2000)

Schleichert, Elizabeth. “Good Pet, Bad Pet.” Ranger Rick June
2002. (2002)

Kavash, E. Barrie. “Ancient Mound Builders.” Cobblestone
October 2003. (2003)

Koscielniak, Bruce. About Time: A First Look at Time and
Clocks. Orlando: Houghton Mifflin, 2004. (2004)

Sometime around 1440, the spring-powered clock was invented.
Instead of depending on the pull of weights for pow-
er, this type of clock used a flat metal spring wound tightly into
a coil. The escapement allowed the spring to unwind
by turning one gear tooth at a time. With the use of a spring,
smaller, truly portable clocks could be made.

The first well-known watches, made in Germany around 1510
by Peter Henlein, were so named because guards or
“watchmen” carried small clocks to keep track of how long to
stay at a particular duty post.

Many different skills went into making a clock, and new tools
and methods were constantly being invented to make
ever smaller, more complicated mechanisms that worked with
greater precision.

Founders melted and poured metal into a mold to make clock
parts.

Spring makers hand-forged (heated and pounded into shape) and
polished steel clock springs.

Screw makers cut screws used to fasten clocks together by using

a small lathe devised by a German clockmaker in
1480. Earlier, only wedges or pegs were used.

Gear-tooth cutting had been done by hand until the mid-1500s,
when Giannelo Torriano of Cremona, Italy, invented a
machine that could cut perfect gear teeth. Brass replaced iron
for clock making.

Engravers, gilders, and enamellers decorated clock cases and
dials.

Glass -making shops made and cut glass.

Woodworkers made clock cases.

Excerpt from ABOUT TIME: A First Look at Time and Clocks
by Bruce Koscielniak. Copyright © 2004 by Bruce Kosciel-
niak. Used by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Publishing Company. All rights reserved.

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Banting, Erinn. England the Land. New York: Crabtree, 2004.
(2004)
From “Living Fences”

Low fences, some of which are thousands of years old, divide
much of England’s countryside. These fences, called
hedgerows, were fist build by the Anglo-Saxons, a group of
warriors from Germany and Scandinavia who arrived in
England around 410 A.D. As they gained control of sections of
land, they protected their property with walls made
from wooden stakes and spiny plants. Dead hedgerows, as these
fences were called, were eventually replaced by
fences made from live bushes and trees.

Recently, people building large farms and homes in the
countryside have destroyed many live hedgerows. Other
people are working to save the hedgerows, which are home to a
variety of wildlife, including birds, butterflies, hedge-
hogs, and hares.

Hakim, Joy. A History of US. Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2005. (2005)
From Book 1: The First Americans, Prehistory to 1600; Chapter
7: “The Show-Offs”

In case you forgot, you’re still in that time-and-space capsule,
but you’re not a baby anymore. You’re 10 years old and
able to work the controls yourself. So get going; we want to
head northwest, to the very edge of the land, to the re-
gion that will be the states of Washington and Oregon. The
time? We were in the 13th century; let’s try the 14th century

for this visit.

Life is easy for the Indians here in the Northwest near the great
ocean. They are affluent (AF-flew-ent –it means
“wealthy”) Americans. For them the world is bountiful: the
rivers hold salmon and sturgeon; the ocean is full of seals,
whales, fish, and shellfish; the woods are swarming with game
animals. And there are berries and nuts and wild roots
to be gathered. They are not farmers. They don’t need to farm.

Those Americans go to sea in giant canoes; some are 60 feet
long. (How long is your bedroom? Your schoolroom?)
Using stone tools and fire, Indians of the Northwest cut down
gigantic fir trees and hollow out the logs to make their
boats. The trees tower 200 feet and are 10 feet across at the
base. There are so many of them, so close together, with
a tangle of undergrowth, that it is sometimes hard for hunters to
get through the forest. Tall as these trees are, there
are not as big as the redwoods that grow in a vast forest to the
south (in the land that will become California).

Media Text
“American Indians of the Pacific Northwest Collection,” a
digital archive of images and documents hosted by the Uni-
versity of Washington: http://content.lib.washington.edu/aipnw/

Ruurs, Margriet. My Librarian Is a Camel: How Books Are
Brought to Children Around the World. Honesdale, Penn.:
Boyds Mills Press, 2005. (2005)
From “Peru”

Children in Peru can receive their book in several different,
innovative ways.

CEDILI-IBBY Peru is an institution that delivers books in bags
to families in Lima. Each bag contains twenty books,

which families can keep for a month. The books come in four
different reading levels so that children really learn how
to read. This project in Spanish is called El Libro Compartido
en Familia and enables parents to share the joy of books
with their children.

In small, rural communities, books are delivered in wooden
suitcases and plastic bags. These suitcases and bags con-
tain books that the community can keep and share for the next
three months. The number of books in each suitcase
depends on the size of the community. There are no library
buildings in these small towns, and people gather outside,
in the plaza, to see books they can check out. In the coastal
regions, books are sometimes delivered by donkey cart.
The books are stored in the reading promoter’s home.

In the ancient city of Cajamarca, reading promoters from
various rural areas select and receive a large collection of
books for their area. The program is called Aspaderuc. The
reading promoter lends these books to his or her neigh-
bors, and after three months, a new selection of books goes out
to each area. Books in this system are for children
and adults.

And last but not least, Fe Y Alegria brings a collection of
children’s books to rural schools. The books are brought
from school to school by wagon. The children, who are excited
about browsing through the books when they arrive,
are turning into avid readers.

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Simon, Seymour. Horses. New York: HarperCollins, 2006.
(2006)

Horses move in four natural ways, called gaits or paces. They
walk, trot, canter, and gallop. The walk is the slowest
gait and the gallop is the fastest.

When a horse walks, each hoof leaves the ground at a different
time. It moves one hind leg first, and then the front
leg on the same side; then the other hind leg and the other front
leg. When a horse walks, its body swings gently with
each stride.

When a horse trots, its legs move in pairs, left front leg with
right hind leg, and right front leg with left hind leg. When
a horse canters, the hind legs and one front leg move together,
and then the hind legs and the other foreleg move
together.

The gallop is like a much faster walk, where each hoof hits the
ground one after another. When a horse gallops, all

four of its hooves may be flying off the ground at the same
time.

Horses are usually described by their coat colors and by the
white markings on their faces, bodies, legs, and hooves.

Brown horses range in color from dark brown bays and
chestnuts to golden browns, such as palominos, and lighter
browns such as roans and duns.

Partly colored horses are called pintos or paints. Colorless,
pure-white horses—albinos—are rare. Most horses that look
white are actually gray.

Skewbalds have brown-and-white patches. Piebalds have black
and white patches. Spotteds have dark spots on a
white coat or white spots on a dark coat.

Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Montgomery, Sy. Quest for the Tree Kangaroo: An Expedition
to the Cloud Forest of New Guinea. Orlando:
Houghton Mifflin, 2006. (2006)
From “Marsupial Mania”

Stuart Little, the small mouse with big parents, had nothing on
baby marsupials. Marsupials (“mar-SOUP-ee-ulz”) are
special kinds of mammals. Even the biggest ones give birth to
babies that are incredibly small. A two-hundred-pound
six-foot mother kangaroo, for instance, gives birth to a baby as
small as a lima bean. That’s what makes marsupials
marsupials. Their babies are born so tiny that in order to survive
they must live in a pouch on the mother’s tummy.
The pouch is called a marsupium. (Don’t you wish you had
one?)

A baby marsupial lives hidden in the mother’s warm moist
pouch for months. There it sucks milk from a nipple like
other baby mammals. One day it’s big enough to poke its head
out to see the world. The European explorers who saw
kangaroos for the first time in Australia reported they had
discovered a two-headed animal—with one head on the
neck and another in the belly.

North America has only one marsupial. You may have seen it:
The Virginia opossum actually lives in most of the
United States, not just Virginia. South America also has
marsupials. But most marsupials live in or near Australia. They
include the koala (which is not a bear), two species of wombat,
the toothy black Tasmania devil, four species of black
and white spotted “native cats” (though they’re not cats at all),
and many others.

The most famous marsupials, however, are the kangaroos. All
kangaroos hop—some of them six feet high and faster
than forty miles an hour. More than fifty different species of
kangaroo hop around on the ground—from the big red
kangaroo to the musky rat kangaroo.

Excerpt from QUEST FOR THE TREE KANGAROO: An
Expedition to the Cloud Forest of New Guinea by Sy Montgom-
ery. Text Copyright © 2006 by Sy Montgomery. Used by
Permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.
All rights reserved.

Simon, Seymour. Volcanoes. New York: HarperCollins, 2006.
(2006)

In early times, no one knew how volcanoes formed or why they
spouted red-hot molten rock. In modern times, scien-
tists began to study volcanoes. They still don’t know all the
answers, but they know much about how a volcano works.

Our planet is made up of many layers of rock. The top layers of
solid rock are called the crust. Deep beneath the crust
is the mantle, where it is so hot that some rock melts. The
melted, or molten, rock is called magma.

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Volcanoes are formed when magma pushes its way up through
the crack in Earth’s crust. This is called a volcanic
eruption. When magma pours forth on the surface, it is called
lava.

Text Copyright © 1998 by Seymour Simon. Used by permission
of HarperCollins Publishers.

Nelson, Kadir. We Are the Ship: The Story of Negro League
Baseball. New York: Jump at the Sun, 2008. (2008)
From “4th Inning: Racket Ball: Negro League Owners”

Most of the owners didn’t make much money from their teams.
Baseball was just a hobby for them, a way to make
their illegal money look good. To save money, each team would
only carry fifteen or sixteen players. The major league
teams each carried about twenty-five. Average salary for each
player started at roughly $125 per month back in ‘34,
and went up to $500-$800 during the forties, though there were
some who made much more than that, like Satchel
Paige and Josh Gibson. The average major league player’s
salary back then was $7,000 per month. We also got
around fifty cents to a dollar per day for food allowance. Back
then you could get a decent meal for about twenty-five
cents to seventy-five cents.

Some of the owners didn’t treat their players very well. Didn’t
pay them enough or on time. That’s why we would
jump from team to team. Other owners would offer us more
money, and we would leave our teams and go play for
them. We were some of the first unrestricted free agents.

There were, however, a few owners who did know how to treat
their ballplayers. Cum Posey was one of them. He
always took care of his ballplayers, put them in the best hotels,
and paid them well and on time. Buck Leonard said
Posey never missed a payday in the seventeen years he played
for the Grays.

Cutler, Nellie Gonzalez. “Kenya’s Long Dry Season.” Time for
Kids September 25, 2009. (2009)

Hall, Leslie. “Seeing Eye to Eye.” National Geographic
Explorer September 2009. (2009)

A hungry falcon soars high above Earth. Its sharp eyes scan the
ground. Suddenly, it spies something moving in the

grass. The falcon dives toward it.

Far below, a gray field mouse scurries through the grass. Its
dark, beady eyes search constantly for danger. With eyes
on either side of its head, the mouse can see almost everything
around it.

Will the mouse see the falcon in time to escape? Or, will the
speedy falcon catch the prey it spied from far above?
Whatever happens, one thing is clear: Without eyes, neither
animal has a good chance.

Why? Eyes help many animals make sense of the world around
them - and survive. Eyes can guide the falcon to din-
ner or help the mouse see a perfect place to hide.

Animal eyes come in many different shapes, sizes, colors, and
even numbers. Yet they do the same job. They all catch
light. With help from the brain, eyes turn light into sight.

Eyes work in the same way for people. Look at this page. You
may think you see words and pictures. Believe it or not,
you don’t. All you see is light bouncing off the page. How is
this possible? The secret is in the rules of light.

Light Rules

Light is a form of energy, like heat or sound. It can come from a
natural source, like the sun, or artificial sources, like a
lamp or a flashlight.

Light is the fastest known thing. It travels in waves and in
nearly straight lines. In air, it can speed 299,700 kilometers
(186,200 miles) per second. It can race from the sun to Earth in
just over eight minutes! Light doesn’t always travel so
fast. For example, water or glass can slow light down, but just a

bit.

Light may seem to break all driving speed laws. Yet there are
certain rules it always follows. Light reflects, or bounces
off objects. It also refracts, or bends. And it can be absorbed, or
soaked up, by objects. These rules of light affect
what, and how, we see.

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Light! Eyes!

Imagine this scene: You’re at your desk happily reading
Explorer magazine. Light from your desk lamp scatters in all
directions.

Light hits the page. Some bounces off the page, or reflects. It

changes direction. It’s a little like how sound bounces
off a wall. Now some of this reflected light is traveling right
toward your face. Don’t duck! For you to see Explorer,
some of this light has to enter your eyes. Objects become
visible when light bounces off them.

Your eyes are light catchers. Yet it takes more than catching
light to see an image. Your eyes also have to bend light.
Here’s how.

First, light hits your cornea. That’s the clear covering on the
front of your eyeball. The cornea refracts, or bends, light.

And Action!

Is your cornea super strong? No! Think about how light travels
more slowly through water. The same thing happens in
your cornea. As light passes through the cornea, it slows down.
That makes the light change direction, or bend.

Next, light enters your pupil, the dark center part of your eye. It
passes through your lens. The lens bends light, too.
What’s the big deal about bending light? That’s how your eyes
focus, or aim the light to make a clear image.

The image appears on your retina at the back of your eyeball.
It’s like a movie. Playing Today at a Theater in Your Eye:
Explorer magazine! There’s only one problem. The image is
upside down. Luckily, your brain flips the image right side
up. That’s pretty smart!

Copyright © 2009 National Geographic. Used by permission.

Ronan, Colin A. “Telescopes.” The New Book of Knowledge.
New York: Scholastic, 2010. (2010)

You can see planets, stars, and other objects in space just by
looking up on a clear night. But to really see them--to
observe the craters on the moon, the rings around Saturn, and
the countless other wonders in our sky--you must use
a telescope.

A telescope is an instrument used to produce magnified
(enlarged) images of distant objects. It does this by gather-
ing and focusing the light or other forms of electromagnetic
radiation emitted or reflected by those objects. The word
“telescope” comes from two Greek words meaning “far” and
“see.”

Kinds of Telescopes

There are many different types of telescopes, both optical and
non-optical. Optical telescopes are designed to focus
visible light. Non-optical telescopes are designed to detect
kinds of electromagnetic radiation that are invisible to
the human eye. These include radio waves, infrared radiation, X
rays, ultraviolet radiation, and gamma rays. The word
“optical” means “making use of light.”

Some telescopes are launched into space. These telescopes gain
clearer views. And they can collect forms of electro-
magnetic radiation that are absorbed by the Earth’s atmosphere
and do not reach the ground.

Optical Telescopes

Different types of optical telescopes gather and focus light in
different ways. Refracting telescopes, or refractors, use
lenses. Reflecting telescopes, or reflectors, use mirrors. And
catadioptric telescopes, or catadioptrics, use a combina-
tion of lenses and mirrors. The main lens or mirror in an optical
telescope is called the objective.

Refracting Telescopes. A refracting telescope is typically a
long, tube-shaped instrument. The objective is a system
of lenses at the front end of the tube (the end facing the sky).
When light strikes the lenses, it is bent and brought to
a focus within the tube. This forms an image of a distant object.
This image can be magnified by the eyepiece. This
consists of a group of small lenses at the back of the tube. A
camera can replace or be added to the eyepiece. Then
photographs can be taken of celestial objects. For many years,
these cameras used film. Today most are equipped
with charge-coupled devices (CCD’s). These devices use
semiconductor chips to electronically capture images. CCD’s
are similar to the devices in home digital cameras and video
camcorders. However, the CCD’s used by astronomers
are usually extremely sensitive to light.

From Ronan, Colin A. “Telescopes.” Reviewed by William A.
Gutsch. The New Book of Knowledge®. Copyright © 2010.
Grolier Online. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission of
Scholastic Inc.

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Buckmaster, Henrietta. “Underground Railroad.” The New Book
of Knowledge. New York: Scholastic, 2010. (2010)

Sample Performance Tasks for Informational Texts

• Students explain how Melvin Berger uses reasons and
evidence in his book Discovering Mars: The Amazing
Story of the Red Planet to support particular points regarding
the topology of the planet. [RI.4.8]

• Students identify the overall structure of ideas, concepts,
and information in Seymour Simon’s Horses (based
on factors such as their speed and color) and compare and
contrast that scheme to the one employed by
Patricia Lauber in her book Hurricanes: Earth’s Mightiest
Storms. [RI.5.5]

• Students interpret the visual chart that accompanies Steve
Otfinoski’s The Kid’s Guide to Money: Earning It,
Saving It, Spending It, Growing It, Sharing It and explain how
the information found within it contributes to an
understanding of how to create a budget. [RI.4.7]

• Students explain the relationship between time and clocks
using specific information drawn from Bruce Kosci-
elniak’s About Time: A First Look at Time and Clocks. [RI.5.3]

• Students determine the meaning of domain-specific words
or phrases, such as crust, mantle, magma, and lava,

and important general academic words and phrases that appear
in Seymour Simon’s Volcanoes. [RI.4.4]

• Students compare and contrast a firsthand account of
African American ballplayers in the Negro Leagues to
a secondhand account of their treatment found in books such as
Kadir Nelson’s We Are the Ship: The Story of
Negro League Baseball, attending to the focus of each account
and the information provided by each. [RI.4.6]

• Students quote accurately and explicitly from Leslie
Hall’s “Seeing Eye to Eye” to explain statements they make
and ideas they infer regarding sight and light. [RI.5.1]

• Students determine the main idea of Colin A. Ronan’s
“Telescopes” and create a summary by explaining how
key details support his distinctions regarding different types of
telescopes. [RI.4.2]

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Grades 6–8 text exemplars

Stories

Alcott, Louisa May. Little Women. New York: Penguin, 1989.
(1868)
From Chapter 2: “A Merry Christmas”

“Merry Christmas, little daughters! I’m glad you began at once,
and hope you will keep on. But I want to say one word
before we sit down. Not far away from here lies a poor woman
with a little newborn baby. Six children are huddled
into one bed to keep from freezing, for they have no fire. There
is nothing to eat over there, and the oldest boy came
to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold. My girls, will
you give them your breakfast as a Christmas present?”

They were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour,
and for a minute no one spoke, only a minute, for Jo
exclaimed impetuously, “I’m so glad you came before we
began!”

“May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?”
asked Beth eagerly.

“I shall take the cream and the muffins,” added Amy, heroically
giving up the article she most liked.

Meg was already covering the buckwheats, and piling the bread
into one big plate.

“I thought you’d do it,” said Mrs. March, smiling as if satisfied.

“You shall all go and help me, and when we come back
we will have bread and milk for breakfast, and make it up at
dinnertime.”

They were soon ready, and the procession set out. Fortunately it
was early, and they went through back streets, so
few people saw them, and no one laughed at the queer party.

A poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken windows, no
fire, ragged bedclothes, a sick mother, wailing baby,
and a group of pale, hungry children cuddled under one old
quilt, trying to keep warm.

How the big eyes stared and the blue lips smiled as the girls
went in.

“Ach, mein Gott! It is good angels come to us!” said the poor
woman, crying for joy.

“Funny angels in hoods and mittens,” said Jo, and set them to
laughing.

In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been at
work there. Hannah, who had carried wood, made a
fire, and stopped up the broken panes with old hats and her own
cloak. Mrs. March gave the mother tea and gruel,
and comforted her with promises of help, while she dressed the
little baby as tenderly as if it had been her own. The
girls meantime spread the table, set the children round the fire,
and fed them like so many hungry birds, laughing,
talking, and trying to understand the funny broken English.

“Das ist gut!” “Die Engel-kinder!” cried the poor things as they
ate and warmed their purple hands at the comfortable
blaze. The girls had never been called angel children before,
and thought it very agreeable, especially Jo, who had been

considered a ‘Sancho’ ever since she was born. That was a very
happy breakfast, though they didn’t get any of it. And
when they went away, leaving comfort behind, I think there
were not in all the city four merrier people than the hungry
little girls who gave away their breakfasts and contented
themselves with bread and milk on Christmas morning.

“That’s loving our neighbor better than ourselves, and I like it,”
said Meg, as they set out their presents while their
mother was upstairs collecting clothes for the poor Hummels.

Media Text
Composer Mark Adamo details for an Opera America online
course the process of adapting the novel to operatic form:
http://www.markadamo.com/course.pdf

Twain, Mark. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. New York:
Modern Library, 2001. (1876)
From Chapter 2: “The Glorious Whitewasher”

But Tom’s energy did not last. He began to think of the fun he
had planned for this day, and his sorrows multiplied.
Soon the free boys would come tripping along on all sorts of
delicious expeditions, and they would make a world of

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fun of him for having to work—the very thought of it burnt him
like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and examined
it—bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to buy an exchange
of WORK, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much
as half an hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straitened
means to his pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to
buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless moment an inspiration
burst upon him! Nothing less than a great, magnificent
inspiration.

He took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers
hove in sight presently—the very boy, of all boys, whose
ridicule he had been dreading. Ben’s gait was the hop-skip-and-
jump—proof enough that his heart was light and his
anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and giving a long,
melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-
toned ding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating
a steamboat. As he drew near, he slackened speed,
took the middle of the street, leaned far over to starboard and
rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp and
circumstance—for he was personating the Big Missouri, and
considered himself to be drawing nine feet of water. He
was boat and captain and engine-bells combined, so he had to
imagine himself standing on his own hurricane-deck
giving the orders and executing them:

“Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling!” The headway ran almost out,
and he drew up slowly toward the sidewalk.

“Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling!” His arms straightened and
stiffened down his sides.

“Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-
chow-wow! Chow!” His right hand, meantime, describing
stately circles—for it was representing a forty-foot wheel.

“Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-lingling! Chow-ch-
chow-chow!” The left hand began to describe circles.

“Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Come
ahead on the stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside
turn over slow! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ow-ow! Get out that
head-line! LIVELY now! Come—out with your spring-line—
what’re you about there! Take a turn round that stump with the
bight of it! Stand by that stage, now—let her go! Done
with the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! SH’T! S’H’T! SH’T!”
(trying the gauge-cocks).”

Tom went on whitewashing—paid no attention to the steamboat.
Ben stared a moment and then said: “Hi-YI! YOU’RE
up a stump, ain’t you!”

No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an
artist, then he gave his brush another gentle sweep and
surveyed the result, as before. Ben ranged up alongside of him.
Tom’s mouth watered for the apple, but he stuck to
his work. Ben said:

“Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?”

Tom wheeled suddenly and said:

“Why, it’s you, Ben! I warn’t noticing.”

“Say—I’m going in a-swimming, I am. Don’t you wish you
could? But of course you’d druther WORK—wouldn’t you?
Course you would!”

Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:

“What do you call work?”

“Why, ain’t THAT work?”

Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:

“Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain’t. All I know, is, it suits
Tom Sawyer.”

“Oh come, now, you don’t mean to let on that you LIKE it?”

The brush continued to move.

“Like it? Well, I don’t see why I oughtn’t to like it. Does a boy
get a chance to whitewash a fence every day?”

That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his
apple. Tom swept his brush daintily back and forth—
stepped back to note the effect—added a touch here and there—
criticised the effect again—Ben watching every move
and getting more and more interested, more and more absorbed.
Presently he said:

“Say, Tom, let ME whitewash a little.”

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Tom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:

“No—no—I reckon it wouldn’t hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt
Polly’s awful particular about this fence—right here on the
street, you know—but if it was the back fence I wouldn’t mind
and SHE wouldn’t. Yes, she’s awful particular about this
fence; it’s got to be done very careful; I reckon there ain’t one
boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it
the way it’s got to be done.”

“No—is that so? Oh come, now—lemme just try. Only just a
little—I’d let YOU, if you was me, Tom.”

“Ben, I’d like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly—well, Jim
wanted to do it, but she wouldn’t let him; Sid wanted to do it,
and she wouldn’t let Sid. Now don’t you see how I’m fixed? If
you was to tackle this fence and anything was to happen
to it—”

“Oh, shucks, I’ll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say—I’ll
give you the core of my apple.”

“Well, here—No, Ben, now don’t. I’m afeard—”

“I’ll give you ALL of it!”

Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity
in his heart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri
worked and sweated in the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel
in the shade close by, dangled his legs, munched
his apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents. There
was no lack of material; boys happened along every
little while; they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. By
the time Ben was fagged out, Tom had traded the next
chance to Billy Fisher for a kite, in good repair; and when he
played out, Johnny Miller bought in for a dead rat and a
string to swing it with—and so on, and so on, hour after hour.
And when the middle of the afternoon came, from be-
ing a poor poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was
literally rolling in wealth. He had besides the things before
mentioned, twelve marbles, part of a jews-harp, a piece of blue
bottle-glass to look through, a spool cannon, a key
that wouldn’t unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a glass
stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles,
six fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass doorknob, a
dog-collar—but no dog—the handle of a knife, four
pieces of orange-peel, and a dilapidated old window sash.

He had had a nice, good, idle time all the while—plenty of
company—and the fence had three coats of whitewash on
it! If he hadn’t run out of whitewash he would have bankrupted
every boy in the village.

Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after

all. He had discovered a great law of human action,
without knowing it—namely, that in order to make a man or a
boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing
difficult to attain. If he had been a great and wise philosopher,
like the writer of this book, he would now have com-
prehended that Work consists of whatever a body is OBLIGED
to do, and that Play consists of whatever a body is not
obliged to do. And this would help him to understand why
constructing artificial flowers or performing on a tread-mill
is work, while rolling ten-pins or climbing Mont Blanc is only
amusement. There are wealthy gentlemen in England
who drive four-horse passenger-coaches twenty or thirty miles
on a daily line, in the summer, because the privilege
costs them considerable money; but if they were offered wages
for the service, that would turn it into work and then
they would resign.

The boy mused awhile over the substantial change which had
taken place in his worldly circumstances, and then
wended toward headquarters to report.

L’Engle, Madeleine. A Wrinkle in Time. New York: Farrar,
Straus and Giroux, 1962. (1962)

Cooper, Susan. The Dark Is Rising. New York: Margaret K.
McElderry Books, 1973. (1973)
From “Midwinter Day”

He was woken by music. It beckoned him, lilting and insistent;
delicate music, played by delicate instruments that he
could not identify, with one rippling, bell-like phrase running
through it in a gold thread of delight. There was in this
music so much of the deepest enchantment of all his dreams and
imaginings that he woke smiling in pure happiness
at the sound. In the moment of his waking, it began to fade,
beckoning as it went, and then as he opened his eyes it

was gone. He had only the memory of that one rippling phrase
still echoing in his head, and itself fading so fast that
he sat up abruptly in bed and reached his arm out to the air, as
if he could bring it back.

The room was very still, and there was no music, and yet Will
knew that it had not been a dream.

He was in the twins’ room still; he could hear Robin’s
breathing, slow and deep, from the other bed. Cold light glim-
mered round the edge of the curtains, but no one was stirring
anywhere; it was very early. Will pulled on his rumpled
clothes from the day before, and slipped out of the room. He
crossed the landing to the central window, and looked
down.

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In the first shining moment he saw the whole strange-familial
world, glistening white; the roofs of the outbuildings
mounded into square towers of snow, and beyond them all the
fields and hedge: buried, merged into one great flat
expanse, unbroken white to the horizon’s brim. Will drew in a
long, happy breath, silently rejoicing. Then, very faintly,
he heard the music again, the same phrase. He swung round
vainly searching for it in the air, as if he might see it
somewhere like a flickering light.

“Where are you?”

Yep, Laurence. Dragonwings. New York: HarperCollins, 1975.
(1975)
From Chapter IX: “The Dragon Wakes (December, 1905—April,
1906)”

By the time the winter rains came to the city, we were not
becoming rich, but we were doing well. Each day we put a
little money away in our cold tin can. Father never said
anything, but I knew he was thinking about the day when we
might be able to afford to bring Mother over. You see, it was
not simply a matter of paying her passage over on the
boat. Father would probably have to go over after her and escort
her across. There had to be money for bribes—tea
money, Uncle called it—at both ends of the ocean. Now that we
no longer belonged to the Company, we somehow
had to acquire a thousand dollars worth of property, a faraway
figure when you can only save nickels and dimes.

And yet the hope that we could start our own little fix-it shop
and qualify as merchants steadily grew with the collec-
tion of coins in the tin can. I was happy most of the time, even
when it became the time for the New Year by the Tang
people’s reckoning. […]

We took the old picture of the Stove King and smeared some
honey on it before we burned it in the stove. Later that
evening we would hang up a new picture of the Stove King that
we had bought in the Tang people’s town. That was
a sign the Stove King had returned to his place above our stove.
After we had finished burning the old picture, we sat
down to a lunch of meat pastries and dumplings.

Taylor, Mildred D. Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. New York:
Phyllis Fogelman Books, 1976. (1976)
From Chapter 9

“You were born blessed, boy, with land of your own. If you
hadn’t been, you’d cry out for it while you try to survive…
like Mr. Lanier and Mr. Avery. Maybe even do what they doing
now. It’s hard on a man to give up, but sometimes it
seems there just ain’t nothing else he can do.”

“I… I’m sorry, Papa,” Stacey muttered.

After a moment, Papa reached out and draped his arm over
Stacey’s shoulder.

“Papa,” I said, standing to join them, “we giving up too?”

Papa looked down at me and brought me closer, then waved his
hand toward the drive. “You see that fig tree over
yonder, Cassie? Them other trees all around… that oak and
walnut, they’re a lot bigger and they take up more room
and give so much shade they almost overshadow that little ole
fig. But that fig tree’s got roots that run deep, and it
belongs in that yard as much as that oak and walnut. It keeps
blooming, bearing fruit year after year, knowing all the
time it’ll never get as big as them other trees. Just keeps on
growing and doing what it gotta do. It don’t give up. It

give up, it’ll die. There’s a lesson to be learned from that little
tree, Cassie girl, ‘cause we’re like it. We keep doing what
we gotta do, and we don’t give up. We can’t.”

Hamilton, Virginia. “The People Could Fly.” The People Could
Fly: American Black Folktales. New York: Knopf
Books for Young Readers, 1985. (1985)

They say the people could fly. Say that long ago in Africa, some
of the people knew magic. And they would walk up
on the air like climbin up on a gate. And they flew like
blackbirds over the fields. Black, shiny wings flappin against
the
blue up there.

Then, many of the people were captured for Slavery. The ones
that could fly shed their wings. They couldn’t take their
wings across the water on slave ships. Too crowded, don’t you
know.

The folks were full of misery, then. Got sick with the up and
down of the sea. So they forgot about flyin when they
could no longer breathe the sweet scent of Africa.

Say the people who could fly kept their power, although they
shed their wings. They looked the same as the other
people from Africa who had been coming over, who had dark
skin. Say you couldn’t tell anymore one who could fly
from one who couldn’t.

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One such who could was an old man, call him Toby. And
standin tall, yet afraid, was a young woman who once had
wings. Call her Sarah. Now Sarah carried a babe tied to her
back. She trembled to be so hard worked and scorned.

The slaves labored in the fields from sunup to sundown. The
owner of the slaves callin himself their Master. Say he was
a hard lump of clay. A hard, glinty coal. A hard rock pile,
wouldn’t be moved. His Overseer on horseback pointed out
the slaves who were slowin down. So the one called Driver
cracked his whip over the slow ones to make them move
faster. That whip was a slice-open cut of pain. So they did move
faster. Had to.

Paterson, Katherine. The Tale of the Mandarin Ducks.
Illustrated by Leo and Diane Dillon. New York: Lodestar
Books,
1990. (1990)

Long ago and far away in the Land of the Rising Sun, there
lived together a pair of mandarin ducks. Now, the drake

was a magnificent bird with plumage of colors so rich that the
emperor himself would have envied it. But his mate,
the duck, wore the quiet tones of the wood, blending exactly
with the hole in the tree where the two had made their
nest.

One day while the duck was sitting on her eggs, the drake flew
down to a nearby pond to search for food. While he
was there, a hunting party entered the woods. The hunters were
led by the lord of the district, a proud and cruel man
who believed that everything in the district belonged to him to
do with as he chose. The lord was always looking for
beautiful things to adorn his manor house and garden. And when
he saw the drake swimming gracefully on the sur-
face of the pond, he determined to capture him.

The lord’s chief steward, a man named Shozo, tried to
discourage his master. “The drake is a wild spirit, my lord,” he
said. “Surely he will die in captivity.” But the lord pretended
not to hear Shozo. Secretly he despised Shozo, because
although Shozo had once been his mightiest samurai, the
warrior had lost an eye in battle and was no longer hand-
some to look upon.

The lord ordered his servants to clear a narrow way through the
undergrowth and place acorns along the path. When
the drake came out of the water he saw the acorns. How pleased
he was! He forgot to be cautious, thinking only of
what a feast they would be to take home to his mate.

Just as he was bending to pick up an acorn in his scarlet beak, a
net fell over him, and the frightened bird was carried
back to the lord’s manor and placed in a small bamboo cage.

From THE TALE OF THE MANDARIN DUCKS by Katherine
Paterson, illustrated by Diane and Leo Dillon. Text © 1990

by Katherine Paterson. Illustrations © 1990 by Diane and Leo
Dillon. Used by permission of Dutton Children’s Books, A
Division of Penguin Young Readers Group, A Member of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc, All rights reserved.

Cisneros, Sandra. “Eleven.” Woman Hollering Creek and Other
Stories. New York: Random House, 1991. (1991)

What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never
tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten,
and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and
three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on
your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t.
You open your eyes and everything’s just like yester-
day, only it’s today. And you don’t feel eleven at all. You feel
like you’re still ten. And you are — underneath the year
that makes you eleven.

Like some days you might say something stupid, and that’s the
part of you that’s still ten. Or maybe some days you
might need to sit on your mama’s lap because you’re scared,
and that’s the part of you that’s five.

And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will
need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s
what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s
feeling three.

Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like
the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls
that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one.
That’s how being eleven years old is.

You don’t feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days,
weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven
when they ask you. And you don’t feel smart eleven, not until

you’re almost twelve. That’s the way it is.

Sutcliff, Rosemary. Black Ships Before Troy: The Story of the
Iliad. New York: Delacorte Press, 1993. (1993)
From “The Golden Apple”

In the high and far-off days when men were heroes and walked
with the gods, Peleus, king of the Myrmidons, took for
his wife a sea nymph called Thetis, Thetis of the Silver Feet.
Many guests came to their wedding feast, and among the
mortal guests came all the gods of high Olympus.

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But as they sat feasting, one who had not been invited was
suddenly in their midst: Eris, the goddess of discord, had
been left out because wherever she went she took trouble with

her; yet here she was, all the same, and in her blackest
mood, to avenge the insult.

All she did—it seemed a small thing—was to toss down on the
table a golden apple. Then she breathed upon the
guests once, and vanished.

The apple lay gleaming among the piled fruits and the brimming
wine cups; and bending close to look at it, everyone
could see the words “To the fairest” traced on its side.

Then the three greatest of the goddesses each claimed that it
was hers. Hera claimed it as wife to Zeus, the All-father,
and queen of all the gods. Athene claimed that she had the
better right, for the beauty of wisdom such as hers sur-
passed all else. Aphrodite only smiled, and asked who had a
better claim to beauty’s prize than the goddess of beauty
herself.

They fell to arguing among themselves; the argument became a
quarrel, and the quarrel grew more and more bitter,
and each called upon the assembled guests to judge between
them. But the other guests refused, for they knew well
enough that, whichever goddess they chose to receive the
golden apple, they would make enemies of the other two.

Drama

Fletcher, Louise. Sorry, Wrong Number. New York: Dramatists
Play Service, 1948. (1948)

[SCENE: As curtain rises, we see a divided stage, only the
center part of which is lighted and furnished as MRS. STE-
VENSON’S bedroom. Expensive, rather fussy furnishings. A
large bed, on which MRS. STEVESON, clad in bed-jacket,
is lying. A night-table close by, with phone, lighted lamp, and

pill bottles. A mantle, with clock, R. A closed door. R. A
window, with curtains closed, rear. The set is lit by one lamp on
night-table. It is enclosed by three flats. Beyond this
central set, the stage, on either side, is in darkness.

MRS. STEVENSON is dialing a number on the phone, as
curtain rises. She listens to phone, slams down receiver in irri-
tation. As she does so, we hear sound of a train roaring by in
the distance. She reaches for her pill bottle, pours herself
a glass of water, shakes out pill, swallows it, then reaches for
the phone again, dials number nervously.]

SOUND: Number being dialed on phone: Busy signal.

MRS. STEVENSON. (A querulo us, self-centered neurotic.)
Oh—dear! (Slams down receiver, Dials OPERATOR.)

[Scene: A spotlight, L. of side flat, picks up out of peripheral
darkness, figure of 1st OPERATOR, sitting with head-
phones at a small table. If spotlight not available, use flashlight,
clicked on by 1st OPERATOR, illuminating her face.]

OPERATOR. Your call, please?

MRS. STEVENSON. Operator? I’ve been dialing Murray Hill 4-
0098 now for the last three-quarters of an hour, and the
line is always busy. But I don’t see how it could be that busy
that long. Will you try it for me please?

OPERATOR. Murray Hill 4-0098? One moment, please.

[SCENE: She makes gesture of plugging in call through
switchboard.]

MRS. STEVENSON. I don’t see how it could be busy all this
time. It’s my husband’s office. He’s working late tonight,

and I’m all alone.

Copyright © 1948, 1952, 1976, 1980, Lucille Fletcher

CAUTION: The excerpt from SORRY, WRONG NUMBER
included herein is reprinted by permission of William Mor-
ris Endeavor Entertainment, LLC. The English language
amateur stage performance rights in this Play are controlled
exclusively by Dramatists Play Service, Inc., 440 Park Avenue
South, New York, NY 10016. No nonprofessional perfor-
mance of the Play may be given without obtaining, in advance,
the written permission of Dramatists Play Service, Inc.,
and paying the requisite fee. Inquiries concerning all other
rights should be addressed to William Morris Endeavor
Entertainment, LLC.

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Goodrich, Frances and Albert Hackett. The Diary of Anne
Frank: A Play. New York: Random House, 1956. (1956)

Poetry

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. “Paul Revere’s Ride.” (1861)

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light,—
One, if by land, and two, if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country-folk to be up and to arm.”

Then he said, “Good night!” and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war;
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon like a prison bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.
Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street,
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears

The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
Marching down to their boats on the shore.
Then he climbed to the tower of the church,
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry-chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,—
Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night-encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,

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Where the river widens to meet the bay,—
A line of black that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side,
Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns!

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,

A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders, that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer’s dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze

Blowing over the meadows brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket-ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read,
How the British Regulars fired and fled,—
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,

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From behind each fence and farm-yard wall,
Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again

Under the trees at the turn of the road,

And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,—
A cry of defiance and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

Media Text
“The Midnight Ride,” an extensive resource, including audio,
images, and maps, provided by the Paul Revere Memorial
Association:
http://www.paulreverehouse.org/ride/

Whitman, Walt. “O Captain! My Captain!” Leaves of Grass.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990. (1865)

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-

crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and
done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Carroll, Lewis. “Jabberwocky.” Alice Through the Looking
Glass. Cambridge, Mass.: Candlewick, 2005. (1872)
From Chapter 1: “Looking-Glass House”

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

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Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!’

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

‘And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’

He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Navajo tradition. “Twelfth Song of Thunder.” The Mountain
Chant: A Navajo Ceremony. Forgotten Books, 2008.
(1887)

The voice that beautifies the land!
The voice above,
The voice of thunder
Within the dark cloud
Again and again it sounds,
The voice that beautifies the land.

The voice that beautifies the land!
The voice below,
The voice of the grasshopper
Among the plants
Again and again it sounds,
The voice that beautifies the land.

Dickinson, Emily. “The Railway Train.” The Compete Poems of
Emily Dickinson. Boston: Little, Brown, 1960. (1893)

I like to see it lap the miles,
And lick the valleys up,
And stop to feed itself at tanks;
And then, prodigious, step

Around a pile of mountains,
And, supercilious, peer
In shanties by the sides of roads;

And then a quarry pare

To fit its sides, and crawl between,
Complaining all the while
In horrid, hooting stanza;
Then chase itself down hill

And neigh like Boanerges;
Then, punctual as a star,
Stop—docile and omnipotent—
At its own stable door.

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Yeats, William Butler. “The Song of Wandering Aengus.” W. B.
Yeats Selected Poetry. London: Macmillan, 1962.
(1899)

I WENT out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

Frost, Robert. “The Road Not Taken.” The Poetry of Robert
Frost: The Collected Poems. Edited by Edward Connery
Lathem. New York: Henry Holt, 1979. (1915)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Sandburg, Carl. “Chicago.” Chicago Poems. New York: Henry
Holt, 1916. (1916)

Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen
your painted
women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.

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And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I
have seen
the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of
women and
children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at
this my city,
and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so
proud to be alive
and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here
is a tall bold
slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a
savage pitted
against the wilderness,

Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white
teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man
laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost
a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and
under his ribs
the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-
naked,
sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of
Wheat,
Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.

Hughes, Langston. “I, Too, Sing America.” The Collected
Poems of Langston Hughes. New York: Knopf, 1994. (1925)

Neruda, Pablo. “The Book of Questions.” The Book of
Questions. Translated by William O’Daly. Port Townsend,
Wash.: Copper Canyon Press, 1991. (1973)

Soto, Gary. “Oranges.” Black Hair. Pittsburgh: University of
Pittsburgh Press, 1985. (1985)

Giovanni, Nikki. “A Poem for My Librarian, Mrs. Long.”
Acolytes. New York: William Morrow, 2007. (2007)

A Poem for My Librarian, Mrs. Long
(You never know what troubled little girl needs a book)

At a time when there was not tv before 3:00 P.M.
And on Sunday none until 5:00
We sat on the front porches watching
The jfg sign go on and off greeting
The neighbors, discussion the political
Situation congratulating the preacher
On his sermon
There was always the radio which brought us
Songs from wlac in nashville and what we would now call
Easy listening or smooth jazz but when I listened
Late at night with my portable (that I was so proud of)
Tucked under my pillow
I heard nat king cole and matt dennis, june christy and ella
fitzgerald
And sometimes sarah vaughan sing black coffee
Which I now drink
It was just called music

There was a bookstore uptown on gay street
Which I visited and inhaled that wonderful odor
Of new books
Even today I read hardcover as a preference paperback only
As a last resort

And up the hill on vine street

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(The main black corridor) sat our carnegie library
Mrs. Long always glad to see you
The stereoscope always ready to show you faraway
Places to dream about

Mrs. Long asking what are you looking for today
When I wanted Leaves of Grass or alfred north whitehead
She would go to the big library uptown and I now know
Hat in hand to ask to borrow so that I might borrow

Probably they said something humiliating since southern
Whites like to humiliate southern blacks

But she nonetheless brought the books
Back and I held them to my chest
Close to my heart
And happily skipped back to grandmother’s house
Where I would sit on the front porch
In a gray glider and dream of a world
Far away

I love the world where I was
I was safe and warm and grandmother gave me neck kissed
When I was on my way to bed

But there was a world
Somewhere
Out there
And Mrs. Long opened that wardrobe
But no lions or witches scared me
I went through
Knowing there would be
Spring

COPYRIGHT © 2007 BY Nikki Giovanni. Used by permission.

Sample Performance Tasks for Stories, Drama, and Poetry

• Students summarize the development of the morality of
Tom Sawyer in Mark Twain’s novel of the same name
and analyze its connection to themes of accountability and
authenticity by noting how it is conveyed through
characters, setting, and plot. [RL.8.2]

• Students compare and contrast Laurence Yep’s fictional
portrayal of Chinese immigrants in turn-of-the-twenti-
eth-century San Francisco in Dragonwings to historical accounts
of the same period (using materials detailing
the 1906 San Francisco earthquake) in order to glean a deeper
understanding of how authors use or alter his-
torical sources to create a sense of time and place as well as
make fictional characters lifelike and real. [RL.7.9]

• Students cite explicit textual evidence as well as draw
inferences about the drake and the duck from Katherine
Paterson’s The Tale of the Mandarin Ducks to support their
analysis of the perils of vanity. [RL.6.1]

• Students explain how Sandra Cisneros’s choice of words
develops the point of view of the young speaker in

her story “Eleven.” [RL.6.6]

• Students analyze how the playwright Louise Fletcher uses
particular elements of drama (e.g., setting and dia-
logue) to create dramatic tension in her play Sorry, Wrong
Number. [RL.7.3]

• Students compare and contrast the effect Henry
Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem “Paul Revere’s Ride” has on
them to the effect they experience from a multimedia
dramatization of the event presented in an interactive
digital map (http://www.paulreverehouse.org/ride/), analyzing
the impact of different techniques employed
that are unique to each medium. [RL.6.7]

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• Students analyze Walt Whitman’s “O Captain! My
Captain!” to uncover the poem’s analogies and allusions.
They analyze the impact of specific word choices by Whitman,
such as rack and grim, and determine how they
contribute to the overall meaning and tone of the poem.
[RL.8.4]

• Students analyze how the opening stanza of Robert Frost’s
“The Road Not Taken” structures the rhythm
and meter for the poem and how the themes introduced by the
speaker develop over the course of the text.
[RL.6.5]

Informational Texts: English Language Arts

Adams, John. “Letter on Thomas Jefferson.” Adams on Adams.
Edited by Paul M. Zall. Lexington: University Press
of Kentucky, 2004. (1776)
From Chapter 6: “Declaring Independence 1775–1776”

Mr. Jefferson came into Congress, in June, 1775, and brought
with him a reputation for literature, science, science, and
a happy talent of composition. Writings of his were handed
about, remarkable for the peculiar felicity of expression.
Though a silent member in Congress, he was so prompt, frank,
explicit, and decisive upon committees and in conver-
sation, not even Samuel Adams was more so, that he soon
seized upon my heart; and upon this occasion I gave him
my vote, and did all in my power to procure the votes of others.
I think he had one more vote than any other, and that
placed him at the head of the committee. I had the next highest
number, and that placed me second. The commit-
tee met, discussed the subject, and then appointed Mr. Jefferson
and me to make the draught, I suppose because we
were the two first on the list.

The subcommittee met. Jefferson proposed to me to make the
draft. I said, ‘I will not.’

‘You should do it.’

‘Oh! no.’

‘Why will you not? You ought to do it.’

‘I will not.’

‘Why?’

‘Reasons enough.’

‘What can be your reasons?’

‘Reason first, you are a Virginian, and a Virginian ought to
appear at the head of this business. Reason second, I am
obnoxious, suspected, and unpopular. You are very much
otherwise. Reason third, you can write ten times better than
I can.’

‘Well,’ said Jefferson, ‘if you are decided, I will do as well as I
can.’

‘Very well. When you have drawn it up, we will have a
meeting.’

Media Text
Adams Family Papers: An Electronic Archive, hosted by the
Massachusetts Historical Society, includes transcriptions of
letters between John and Abigail Adams as well as John
Adams’s diary and autobiography: http://www.masshist.org/
digitaladams/aea/index.html

Douglass, Frederick. Narrative of the Life of Frederick
Douglass an American Slave, Written by Himself. Boston:
Anti-Slavery Office, 1845. (1845)

The plan which I adopted, and the one by which I was most
successful, was that of making friends of all the little
white boys whom I met in the street. As many of these as I
could, I converted into teachers. With their kindly aid,
obtained at different times and in different places, I finally
succeeded in learning to read. When I was sent of errands,
I always took my book with me, and by going one part of my
errand quickly, I found time to get a lesson before my

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return. I used also to carry bread with me, enough of which was
always in the house, and to which I was always wel-

come; for I was much better off in this regard than many of the
poor white children in our neighborhood. This bread I
used to bestow upon the hungry little urchins, who, in return,
would give me that more valuable bread of knowledge.
I am strongly tempted to give the names of two or three of those
little boys, as a testimonial of the gratitude and af-
fection I bear them; but prudence forbids;—not that it would
injure me, but it might embarrass them; for it is almost
an unpardonable offence to teach slaves to read in this Christian
country. It is enough to say of the dear little fellows,
that they lived on Philpot Street, very near Durgin and Bailey’s
ship-yard. I used to talk this matter of slavery over with
them. I would sometimes say to them, I wished I could be as
free as they would be when they got to be men. “You
will be free as soon as you are twenty-one, but I am a slave for
life! Have not I as good a right to be free as you have?”
These words used to trouble them; they would express for me
the liveliest sympathy, and console me with the hope
that something would occur by which I might be free.

I was now about twelve years old, and the thought of being a
slave for life began to bear heavily upon my heart. Just
about this time, I got hold of a book entitled “The Columbian
Orator.” Every opportunity I got, I used to read this
book. Among much of other interesting matter, I found in it a
dialogue between a master and his slave. The slave
was represented as having run away from his master three times.
The dialogue represented the conversation which
took place between them, when the slave was retaken the third
time. In this dialogue, the whole argument in behalf
of slavery was brought forward by the master, all of which was
disposed of by the slave. The slave was made to say
some very smart as well as impressive things in reply to his
master—things which had the desired though unexpected
effect; for the conversation resulted in the voluntary
emancipation of the slave on the part of the master.

In the same book, I met with one of Sheridan’s mighty speeches
on and in behalf of Catholic emancipation. These
were choice documents to me. I read them over and over again
with unabated interest. They gave tongue to interest-
ing thoughts of my own soul, which had frequently flashed
through my mind, and died away for want of utterance.
The moral which I gained from the dialogue was the power of
truth over the conscience of even a slaveholder. What
I got from Sheridan was a bold denunciation of slavery, and a
powerful vindication of human rights. The reading of
these documents enabled me to utter my thoughts, and to meet
the arguments brought forward to sustain slavery;
but while they relieved me of one difficulty, they brought on
another even more painful than the one of which I was
relieved. The more I read, the more I was led to abhor and
detest my enslavers. I could regard them in no other light
than a band of successful robbers, who had left their homes, and
gone to Africa, and stolen us from our homes, and
in a strange land reduced us to slavery. I loathed them as being
the meanest as well as the most wicked of men. As I
read and contemplated the subject, behold! that very
discontentment which Master Hugh had predicted would fol-
low my learning to read had already come, to torment and sting
my soul to unutterable anguish. As I writhed under
it, I would at times feel that learning to read had been a curse
rather than a blessing. It had given me a view of my
wretched condition, without the remedy. It opened my eyes to
the horrible pit, but to no ladder upon which to get
out. In moments of agony, I envied my fellow-slaves for their
stupidity. I have often wished myself a beast. I preferred
the condition of the meanest reptile to my own. Any thing, no
matter what, to get rid of thinking! It was this ever-
lasting thinking of my condition that tormented me. There was
no getting rid of it. It was pressed upon me by every
object within sight or hearing, animate or inanimate. The silver

trump of freedom had roused my soul to eternal wake-
fulness. Freedom now appeared, to disappear no more forever. It
was heard in every sound, and seen in every thing. It
was ever present to torment me with a sense of my wretched
condition. I saw nothing without seeing it, I heard noth-
ing without hearing it, and felt nothing without feeling it. It
looked from every star, it smiled in every calm, breathed in
every wind, and moved in every storm.

Churchill, Winston. “Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat: Address to
Parliament on May 13th, 1940.” Lend Me Your Ears:
Great Speeches in History, 3rd Edition. Edited by William
Safire. New York: W. W. Norton, 2004. (1940)
From “Winston Churchill Braces Britons to Their Task”

I say to the House as I said to ministers who have joined this
government, I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears,
and sweat. We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous
kind. We have before us many, many months of struggle
and suffering.

You ask, what is our policy? I say it is to wage war by land,
sea, and air. War with all our might and with all the
strength God has given us, and to wage war against a monstrous
tyranny never surpassed in the dark and lamentable
catalogue of human crime. That is our policy.

You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word. It is
victory. Victory at all costs - Victory in spite of all terrors -
Victory, however long and hard the road may be, for without
victory there is no survival.

I take up my task in buoyancy and hope. I feel sure that our
cause will not be suffered to fail among men. I feel en-
titled at this juncture, at this time, to claim the aid of all and to
say, “Come then, let us go forward together with our

united strength.”

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Petry, Ann. Harriet Tubman: Conductor on the Underground
Railroad. New York: HarperCollins, 1983. (1955)
From Chapter 3: “Six Years Old”

By the time Harriet Ross was six years old, she had
unconsciously absorbed many kinds of knowledge, almost with
the air she breathed. She could not, for example, have said how
or at what moment she knew that she was a slave.

She knew that her brothers and sisters, her father and mother,
and all the other people who lived in the quarter, men,
women and children were slaves.

She had been taught to say, “Yes, Missus,” “No, Missus,” to
white women, “Yes, Mas’r,” “No, Mas’r” to white men. Or,
“Yes, sah,” “No, sah.”

At the same time someone had taught her where to look for the
North Star, the star that stayed constant, not rising in
the east and setting in the west as the other stars appeared to do;
and told her that anyone walking toward the North
could use that star as a guide.

She knew about fear, too. Sometimes at night, or during the day,
she heard the furious galloping of horses, not just
one horse, several horses, thud of the hoofbeats along the road,
jingle of harness. She saw the grown folks freeze into
stillness, not moving, scarcely breathing, while they listened.
She could not remember who first told her that those
furious hoofbeats meant that patrollers were going in pursuit of
a runaway. Only the slaves said patterollers, whisper-
ing the word.

Steinbeck, John. Travels with Charley: In Search of America.
New York: Penguin, 1997. (1962)
From pages 27–28

I soon discovered that if a wayfaring stranger wishes to
eavesdrop on a local population the places for him to slip
in and hold his peace are bars and churches. But some New
England towns don’t have bars, and church is only on
Sunday. A good alternative is the roadside restaurant where men
gather for breakfast before going to work or going
hunting. To find these places inhabited one must get up very
early. And there is a drawback even to this. Early-rising
men not only do not talk much to strangers, they barely talk to
one another. Breakfast conversation is limited to a
series of laconic grunts. The natural New England taciturnity
reaches its glorious perfection at breakfast.

[…]

I am not normally a breakfast eater, but here I had to be or I
wouldn’t see anybody unless I stopped for gas. At the
first lighted roadside restaurant I pulled in and took my seat at a
counter. The customers were folded over their coffee
cups like ferns. A normal conversation is as follows:

WAITRESS: “Same?”

CUSTOMER: “Yep.”

WAITRESS: “Cold enough for you?”

CUSTOMER: “Yep.”

(Ten minutes.)

WAITRESS: “Refill?”

CUSTOMER: “Yep.”

This is a really talkative customer.

Sample Performance Tasks for Informational Texts: English
Language Arts

• Students determine the point of view of John Adams in his
“Letter on Thomas Jefferson” and analyze how he
distinguishes his position from an alternative approach
articulated by Thomas Jefferson. [RI.7.6]

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• Students provide an objective summary of Frederick
Douglass’s Narrative. They analyze how the central idea
regarding the evils of slavery is conveyed through supporting
ideas and developed over the course of the text.
[RI.8.2]

• Students trace the line of argument in Winston Churchill’s
“Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat” address to Parliament
and evaluate his specific claims and opinions in the text,
distinguishing which claims are supported by facts,
reasons, and evidence, and which are not. [RI.6.8]

• Students analyze in detail how the early years of Harriet
Tubman (as related by author Ann Petry) contributed
to her later becoming a conductor on the Underground Railroad,
attending to how the author introduces, il-
lustrates, and elaborates upon the events in Tubman’s life.
[RI.6.3]

• Students determine the figurative and connotative
meanings of words such as wayfaring, laconic, and tacitur-
nity as well as of phrases such as hold his peace in John
Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley: In Search of America.
They analyze how Steinbeck’s specific word choices and diction
impact the meaning and tone of his writing
and the characterization of the individuals and places he
describes. [RI.7.4]

Informational Texts: History/Social Studies

United States. Preamble and First Amendment to the United
States Constitution. (1787, 1791)

Preamble

We, the People of the United States, in Order to form a more
perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tran-
quility, provide for the common defence, promote the general
Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to our-
selves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this
Constitution of the United States of America.

Amendment I

Congress shall make no law respecting the establishment of
religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or
abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of
people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the
Government for a redress of grievances.

Lord, Walter. A Night to Remember. New York: Henry Holt,
1955. (1955)

Isaacson, Phillip. A Short Walk through the Pyramids and

through the World of Art. New York: Knopf, 1993. (1993)
From Chapter 1

At Giza, a few miles north of Saqqara, sit three great pyramids,
each named for the king – or Pharaoh – during whose
reign it was built. No other buildings are so well known, yet the
first sight of them sitting in their field is breathtaking.
When you walk among them, you walk in a place made for
giants. They seem too large to have been made by human
beings, too perfect to have been formed by nature, and when the
sun is overhead, not solid enough to be attached
to the sand. In the minutes before sunrise, they are the color of
faded roses, and when the last rays of the desert sun
touch them, they turn to amber. But whatever the light, their
broad proportions, the beauty of the limestone, and the
care with which it is fitted into place create three unforgettable
works of art.

What do we learn about art when we look at the pyramids?

First, when all of the things that go into a work – its
components – complement one another, they create and object
that has a certain spirit, and we can call that spirit harmony.
The pyramids are harmonious because limestone, a warm,
quiet material, is a cordial companion for a simple, logical,
pleasing shape. In fact, the stone and the shape are so
comfortable with each other that the pyramids seem inevitable –
as though they were bound to have the form, color,
and texture that they do have.

From A SHORT WALK AROUND THE PYRAMIDS &
THROUGH THE WORLD OF ART by Philip M. Isaacson,
copyright
© 1993 by Philip M. Isaacson. Used by permission of Alfred A.
Knopf, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books,
a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. Any

additional use of this text, such as for classroom use or cur-
riculum development, requires independent permission from
Random House, Inc.

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Media Text
National Geographic mini-site on the pyramids, which includes
diagrams, pictures, and a time line:
http://www.nationalgeographic.com/pyramids/pyramids.html

Murphy, Jim. The Great Fire. New York: Scholastic, 1995.
(1995)
From Chapter 1: “A City Ready to Burn”

Chicago in 1871 was a city ready to burn. The city boasted
having 59,500 buildings, many of them—such as the Court-

house and the Tribune Building—large and ornately decorated.
The trouble was that about two-thirds of all these
structures were made entirely of wood. Many of the remaining
buildings (even the ones proclaimed to be “fireproof”)
looked solid, but were actually jerrybuilt affairs; the stone or
brick exteriors hid wooden frames and floors, all topped
with highly flammable tar or shingle roofs. It was also a
common practice to disguise wood as another kind of build-
ing material. The fancy exterior decorations on just about every
building were carved from wood, then painted to look
like stone or marble. Most churches had steeples that appeared
to be solid from the street, but a closer inspection
would reveal a wooden framework covered with cleverly
painted copper or tin.

The situation was worst in the middle-class and poorer districts.
Lot sizes were small, and owners usually filled them
up with cottages, barns, sheds, and outhouses—all made of fast-
burning wood, naturally. Because both Patrick and
Catherine O’Leary worked, they were able to put a large
addition on their cottage despite a lot size of just 25 by 100
feet. Interspersed in these residential areas were a variety of
businesses—paint factories, lumberyards, distilleries,
gasworks, mills, furniture manufacturers, warehouses, and coal
distributors.

Wealthier districts were by no means free of fire hazards.
Stately stone and brick homes had wood interiors, and
stood side by side with smaller wood-frame houses. Wooden
stables and other storage buildings were common, and
trees lined the streets and filled the yards.

Media Text
The Great Chicago Fire, an exhibit created by the Chicago
Historical Society that includes essays and images:
http://www.chicagohs.org/fire/intro/gcf-index.html

Greenberg, Jan, and Sandra Jordan. Vincent Van Gogh: Portrait
of an Artist. New York: Random House, 2001. (2001)
From Chapter 1: “A Brabant Boy 1853–75”

I have nature and art and poetry, if that is not enough what is?
—Letter to Theo, January 1874

On March 30, 1853, the handsome, soberly dressed Reverend
Theodorus van Gogh entered the ancient town hall of
Groot-Zundert, in the Brabant, a province of the Netherlands.
He opened the birth register to number twenty-nine,
where exactly one year earlier he had sadly written “Vincent
Willem van Gogh, stillborn.” Beside the inscription he
wrote again “Vincent Willem van Gogh,” the name of his new,
healthy son, who was sleeping soundly next to his
mother in the tiny parsonage across the square. The baby’s
arrival was an answered prayer for the still-grieving family.

The first Vincent lay buried in a tiny grave by the door of the
church where Pastor van Gogh preached. The Vincent
who lived grew to be a sturdy redheaded boy. Every Sunday on
his way to church, young Vincent would pass the
headstone carved with the name he shared. Did he feel as if his
dead brother where the rightful Vincent, the one who
would remain perfect in his parents’ hearts, and that he was
merely an unsatisfactory replacement? That might have
been one of the reasons he spent so much of his life feeling like
a lonely outsider, as if he didn’t fit anywhere in the
world.

Despite his dramatic beginning, Vincent had an ordinary
childhood, giving no hint of the painter he would become.
The small parsonage, with an upstairs just two windows wide
under a slanting roof, quickly grew crowded. By the
time he was six he had two sisters, Anna and Elizabeth, and one

brother, Theo, whose gentle nature made him their
mother’s favorite.

Media Text
The Van Gogh Gallery, a commercial Web resource with links
to Van Gogh’s art and information about his life:
http://www.vangoghgallery.com/

Partridge, Elizabeth. This Land Was Made for You and Me: The
Life and Songs of Woody Guthrie. New York: Viking,
2002. (2002)
From the Preface: “Ramblin ’Round”

“I hate a song that makes you think that you’re not any good. I
hate a song that makes you think you are just born to
lose. I am out to fight those kind of songs to my very last breath
of air and my last drop of blood.”

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Woody Guthrie could never cure himself of wandering off. One
minute he’d be there, the next he’d be gone, vanishing
without a word to anyone, abandoning those he loved best. He’d
throw on a few extra shirts, one on top of the other,
sling his guitar over his shoulder, and hit the road. He’d stick
out his thumb and hitchhike, swing onto moving freight
trains, and hunker down with other traveling men in flophouses,
hobo jungles, and Hoovervilles across Depression
America.

He moved restlessly from state to state, soaking up some songs:
work songs, mountain and cowboy songs, sea chan-
teys, songs from the southern chain gangs. He added them to the
dozens he already knew from his childhood until he
was bursting with American folk songs. Playing the guitar and
singing, he started making up new ones: hard-bitten,
rough-edged songs that told it like it was, full of anger and
hardship and hope and love. Woody said the best songs
came to him when he was walking down a road. He always had
fifteen or twenty songs running around in his mind,
just waiting to be put together. Sometimes he knew the words,
but not the melody. Usually he’d borrow a tune that
was already well known—the simpler the better. As he walked
along, he tried to catch a good, easy song that people
could sing the first time they heard it, remember, and sing again
later.

Monk, Linda R. Words We Live By: Your Annotated Guide to
the Constitution. New York: Hyperion, 2003. (2003)
From “We the People … ”

The first three word of the Constitution are the most important.
They clearly state that the people—not the king, not

the legislature, not the courts—are the true rulers in American
government. This principle is known as popular sover-
eignty.

But who are “We the People”? This question troubled the nation
for centuries. As Lucy Stone, one of America’s first
advocates for women’s rights, asked in 1853, “‘We the People’?
Which ‘We the People’? The women were not in-
cluded.” Neither were white males who did not own property,
American Indians, or African Americans—slave or free.
Justice Thurgood Marshall, the first African American on the
Supreme Court, described the limitation:

For a sense of the evolving nature of the Constitution, we need
look no further than the first three words of the docu-
ment’s preamble: ‘We the People.’ When the Founding Fathers
used this phrase in 1787, they did not have in mind
the majority of America’s citizens . . . The men who gathered in
Philadelphia in 1787 could not . . . have imagined, nor
would they have accepted, that the document they were drafting
would one day be construed by a Supreme court to
which had been appointed a woman and the descendant of an
African slave.

Through the Amendment process, more and more Americans
were eventually included in the Constitution’s defini-
tion of “We the People.” After the Civil War, the Thirteenth
Amendment ended slavery, the Fourteenth Amendment
gave African Americans citizenship, and the Fifteenth
Amendment gave black men the vote. In 1920, the Nineteenth
Amendment gave women the right to vote nationwide, and in
1971, the Twenty-sixth Amendment extended suffrage
to eighteen-year-olds.

Freedman, Russell. Freedom Walkers: The Story of the
Montgomery Bus Boycott. New York: Holiday House, 2006.

(2006)
From the Introduction: “Why They Walked”

Not so long ago in Montgomery, Alabama, the color of your
skin determined where you could sit on a public bus. If
you happened to be an African American, you had to sit in the
back of the bus, even if there were empty seats up
front.

Back then, racial segregation was the rule throughout the
American South. Strict laws—called “Jim Crow” laws—en-
forced a system of white supremacy that discriminated against
blacks and kept them in their place as second-class
citizens.

People were separated by race from the moment they were born
in segregated hospitals until the day they were
buried in segregated cemeteries. Blacks and whites did not
attend the same schools, worship in the same churches,
eat in the same restaurants, sleep in the same hotels, drink from
the same water fountains, or sit together in the same
movie theaters.

In Montgomery, it was against the law for a white person and a
Negro to play checkers on public property or ride
together in a taxi.

Most southern blacks were denied their right to vote. The
biggest obstacle was the poll tax, a special tax that was
required of all voters but was too costly for many blacks and for
poor whites as well. Voters also had to pass a literacy
test to prove that they could read, write, and understand the
U.S. Constitution. These tests were often rigged to dis-
qualify even highly educated blacks. Those who overcame the
obstacles and insisted on registering as voters faced
threats, harassment. And even physical violence. As a result,

African Americans in the South could not express their
grievances in the voting booth, which for the most part, was
closed to them. But there were other ways to protest,

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and one day a half century ago, the black citizens in
Montgomery rose up in protest and united to demand their
rights—by walking peacefully.

It all started on a bus.

Informational Texts: Science, Mathematics, and Technical
Subjects

Macaulay, David. Cathedral: The Story of Its Construction.
Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1973. (1973)

From pages 51–56

In order to construct the vaulted ceiling a wooden scaffold was
erected connecting the two walls of the choir one
hundred and thirty feet above ground. On the scaffolding
wooden centerings like those used for the flying buttresses
were installed. They would support the arched stone ribs until
the mortar was dry, at which times the ribs could sup-
port themselves. The ribs carried the webbing, which was the
ceiling itself. The vaults were constructed one bay at a
time, a bay being the rectangular area between four piers.

One by one, the cut stones of the ribs, called voussoirs, were
hoisted onto the centering and mortared into place by
the masons. Finally the keystone was lowered into place to lock
the ribs together at the crown, the highest point of
the arch.

The carpenters then installed pieces of wood, called lagging,
that spanned the space between two centerings. On top
of the lagging the masons laid one course or layer of webbing
stones. The lagging supported the course of webbing
until the mortar was dry. The webbing was constructed of the
lightest possible stone to lessen the weight on the ribs.
Two teams, each with a mason and a carpenter, worked
simultaneously from both sides of the vault – installing first
the lagging, then the webbing. When they met in the center the
vault was complete. The vaulting over the aisle was
constructed in the same way and at the same time.

When the mortar in the webbing had set, a four-inch layer of
concrete was poured over the entire vault to prevent
any cracking between the stones. Once the concrete had set, the
lagging was removed and the centering was low-
ered and moved onto the scaffolding of the next bay. The
procedure was repeated until eventually the entire choir

was vaulted.

Mackay, Donald. The Building of Manhattan. New York: Harper
& Row, 1987. (1987)

Media Text
Manhattan on the Web: History, a Web portal hosted by the
New York Public Library:
http://legacy.www.nypl.org/branch/manhattan/index2.cfm?Trg=
1&d1=865

Enzensberger, Hans Magnus. The Number Devil: A
Mathematical Adventure. Illustrated by Rotraut Susanne Berner.
Translated by Michael Henry Heim. New York: Henry Holt,
1998. (1998)
From “The First Night”

. . . “I see,” said the number devil with a wry smile. “I have
nothing against your Mr. Bockel, but that kind of problem
has nothing whatever to do with what I’m interested in. Do you
want to know something? Most genuine mathemati-
cians are bad at sums. Besides, they have no time to waste on
them. That’s what pocket calculators are for. I assume
you have one.

“Sure, but we’re not allowed to use them in school.”

“I see,” said the number devil. “That’s all right. There’s nothing
wrong with a little addition and subtraction. You never
know when your battery will die on you. But mathematics, my
boy, that’s something else again!” . . .

. . . “The thing that makes numbers so devilish is precisely that
they are simple. And you don’t need a calculator to
prove it. You need one thing and one thing only: one. With
one—I am speaking of the numeral of course—you can do

almost anything. If you are afraid of large numbers—let’s say
five million seven hundred and twenty-three thousand
eight hundred and twelve—all you have to do is start with

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1 + 1
1+1+1
1+1+1+1
1+1+1+1+1

. . . and go on until you come to five million etcetera. You can’t
tell me that’s too complicated for you, can you?

Peterson, Ivars and Nancy Henderson. Math Trek: Adventures in
the Math Zone. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2000.
(2000)

From “Trek 7, The Fractal Pond Race”

From the meanderings of a pond’s edge to the branching of trees
and the intricate forms of snowflakes, shapes in
nature are often more complicated than geometrical shapes such
as circles, spheres, angles, cones, rectangles, and
cubes. Benoit Mandelbrot, a mathematics professor at Yale
University and an IBM fellow, was the first person to rec-
ognize how amazingly common this type of structure is in
nature. In 1975, he coined the term fractal for shapes that
repeat themselves within an object. The word fractal comes
from the Latin term for “broken.”

In 1904, long before Mandelbrot conceived of fractals, Swedish
mathematician Helge von Koch created and intrigu-
ing but puzzling curve. It zigzags in such an odd pattern that it
seems impossible to start at one point and follow the
curve to reach another point.

Like many figures now known to be fractals, Koch’s curve is
easy to generate by starting with a simple figure and
turning it into an increasingly crinkly form.

What to Do

1. Draw an equilateral triangle with each side measuring 9
centimeters. (Remember, each angle of an equilateral tri-
angle measures 60˚.)

2. Divide each 9-centimeter side into three parts, each
measuring three centimeters. At the middle of each side, add
an equilateral triangle one third the size of the original, facing
outward. Because each side of the original triangle is 9
centimeters, the new triangles will have 3-centimeter sides.
When you examine the outer edge of your diagram you
should see a six-pointed star made up of 12 line segments.

3. At the middle of each segment of the star, add a triangle one
ninth the side of the original triangle. The new tri-
angles will have sides 1 centimeter in length so divide each 3-
centimeter segment into thirds, and use the middle third
to form a new triangle.

4. Going one step farther, you create a shape that begins to
resemble a snowflake. If you were to continue the process
by endlessly adding smaller and smaller triangles to every new
side, you would produce the Koch snowflake curve.
Between any two points, the snowflake would have an infinite
number of zigzags.

Katz, John. Geeks: How Two Lost Boys Rode the Internet out of
Idaho. New York: Broadway Books, 2001. (2001)

Jesse and Eric lived in a cave-an airless two-bedroom apartment
in a dank stucco-and-brick complex on the outskirts
of Caldwell. Two doors down, chickens paraded around the
street.

The apartment itself was dominated by two computers that sat
across from the front door like twin shrines. Every-
thing else-the piles of dirty laundry, the opened Doritos bags,
the empty cans of generic soda pop, two ratty old
chairs, and a moldering beanbag chair-was dispensable, an
afterthought, props.

Jesse’s computer was a Pentium 11 300, Asus P2B (Intel BX
chipset) motherboard; a Matrix Milleniurn II AGP; 160 MB
SDRAM with a 15.5 GB total hard-drive space; a 4X CD-
recorder; 24X CD-ROM; a 17-inch Micron monitor. Plus a scan-
ner and printer. A well-thumbed paperback-Katherine Dunn’s
novel Geek Love-served as his mousepad.

Eric’s computer: an AMD K-6 233 with a generic motherboard;
an S3 video card, a 15-inch monitor; a 2.5 GB hard
drive with 36 MB SDRAM. Jesse wangled the parts for both
from work.

They stashed their bikes and then Jesse blasted in through the
door, which was always left open since he can never
hang on to keys, and went right to his PC, which was always on.
He yelled a question to Eric about the new operating
system. “We change them like cartons of milk,” he explained.
At the moment, he had NT 5, NT 4, Work Station, Win-
dows 98, and he and Eric had begun fooling around with Linux,
the complex, open-source software system rapidly
spreading across the world.

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Petroski, Henry. “The Evolution of the Grocery Bag.” American
Scholar 72.4 (Autumn 2003). (2003)

That much-reviled bottleneck known as the American
supermarket checkout lane would be an even greater exercise
in frustration were it not for several technological advances.
The Universal Product Code and the decoding laser
scanner, introduced in 1974, tally a shopper’s groceries far
more quickly and accurately than the old method of input-
ting each purchase manually into a cash register. But beeping a
large order past the scanner would have led only to
a faster pileup of cans and boxes down the line, where the
bagger works, had it not been for the introduction, more
than a century earlier, of an even greater technological
masterpiece: the square-bottomed paper bag.

The geometry of paper bags continues to hold a magical appeal
for those of us who are fascinated by how ordinary
things are designed and made. Originally, grocery bags were
created on demand by storekeepers, who cut, folded,
and pasted sheets of paper, making versatile containers into
which purchases could be loaded for carrying home. The
first paper bags manufactured commercially are said to have
been made in Bristol, England, in the 1840s. In 1852, a
“Machine for Making Bags of Paper” was patented in America
by Francis Wolle, of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Accord-
ing to Wolle’s own description of the machine’s operation,
“pieces of paper of suitable length are given out from a
roll of the required width, cut off from the roll and otherwise
suitably cut to the required shape, folded, their edges
pasted and lapped, and formed into complete and perfect bags.”
The “perfect bags” produced at the rate of eighteen
hundred per hour by Wolle’s machine were, of course, not
perfect, nor was his machine. The history of design has
yet to see the development of a perfect object, though it has
seen many satisfactory ones and many substantially

improved ones. The concept of comparative improvement is
embedded in the paradigm for invention, the better
mousetrap. No one is ever likely to lay claim to a “best”
mousetrap, for that would preclude the inventor himself
from coming up with a still better mousetrap without suffering
the embarrassment of having previously declared the
search complete. As with the mousetrap, so with the bag.

“Geology.” U*X*L Encyclopedia of Science. Edited by Rob
Nagel. Farmington Hills, Mich.: Gale Cengage Learning,
2007. (2007)

Geology is the scientific study of Earth. Geologists study the
planet—its formation, its internal structure, its materials,
its chemical and physical processes, and its history. Mountains,
valleys, plains, sea floors, minerals, rocks, fossils, and
the processes that create and destroy each of these are all the
domain of the geologist. Geology is divided into two
broad categories of study: physical geology and historical
geology.

Physical geology is concerned with the processes occurring on
or below the surface of Earth and the materials on
which they operate. These processes include volcanic eruptions,
landslides, earthquakes, and floods. Materials include
rocks, air, seawater, soils, and sediment. Physical geology
further divides into more specific branches, each of which
deals with its own part of Earth’s materials, landforms, and
processes. Mineralogy and petrology investigate the com-
position and origin of minerals and rocks. Volcanologists study
lava, rocks, and gases on live, dormant, and extinct
volcanoes. Seismologists use instruments to monitor and predict
earthquakes and volcanic eruptions.

Historical geology is concerned with the chronology of events,
both physical and biological, that have taken place

in Earth’s history. Paleontologists study fossils (remains of
ancient life) for evidence of the evolution of life on Earth.
Fossils not only relate evolution, but also speak of the
environment in which the organism lived. Corals in rocks at the
top of the Grand Canyon in Arizona, for example, show a
shallow sea flooded the area around 290 million years ago.
In addition, by determining the ages and types of rocks around
the world, geologists piece together continental and
oceanic history over the past few billion years. Plate tectonics
(the study of the movement of the sections of Earth’s
crust) adds to Earth’s story with details of the changing
configuration of the continents and oceans.

From UXL ENCY SKI V10, 2E. © Gale, a part of Cengage
Learning, Inc. Reproduced by permission.

“Space Probe.” Astronomy & Space: From the Big Bang to the
Big Crunch. Edited by Phillis Engelbert. Farmington
Hills, Mich.: Gale Cengage Learning, 2009. (2009)

A space probe is an unpiloted spacecraft that leaves Earth’s
orbit to explore the Moon, planets, asteroids, comets, or
other objects in outer space as directed by onboard computers
and/or instructions send from Earth. The purpose of
such missions is to make scientific observations, such as taking
pictures, measuring atmospheric conditions, and col-
lecting soil samples, and to bring or report the data back to
Earth.

Numerous space probes have been launched since the former
Soviet Union first fired Luna 1 toward the Moon in 1959.
Probes have now visited each of the eight planets in the solar
system.

In fact, two probes—Voyager 1 and Voyager 2—are
approaching the edge of the solar system, for their eventual trip

into the interstellar medium. By January 2008 Voyager 1 was
about 9.4 billion miles (15.2 billion kilometers) from the
Sun and in May 2008 it entered the heliosheath (the boundary
where the solar wind is thought to end), which is the
area that roughly divides the solar system from interstellar
space. Voyager 2 is not quite as far as its sister probe. Voy-
ager 1 is expected to be the first human space probe to leave the
solar system. Both Voyager probes are still transmit-

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ting signals back to Earth. They are expected to help gather
further information as to the true boundary of the solar
system.

The earliest probes traveled to the closest extraterrestrial target,
the Moon. The former Soviet Union launched a series

of Luna probes that provided humans with first pictures of the
far side of the Moon. In 1966, Luna 9 made the first
successful landing on the Moon and sent back television footage
from the Moon’s surface.

The National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA)
initially made several unsuccessful attempts to send a
probe to the Moon. Not until 1964 did a Ranger probe reach its
mark and send back thousands of pictures. Then, a
few months after Luna 9, NASA landed Surveyor on the Moon.

In the meantime, NASA was moving ahead with the first series
of planetary probes, called Mariner. Mariner 2 first
reached the planet Venus in 1962. Later Mariner spacecrafts
flew by Mars in 1964 and 1969, providing detailed images
of that planet. In 1971, Mariner 9 became the first spacecraft to
orbit Mars. During its year in orbit, Mariner 9’s two tele-
vision cameras transmitted footage of an intense Martian dust
storm, as well as images of 90 percent of the planet’s
surface and the two Martian natural satellites (moons).

Encounters were also made with Mars in 1976 by the U.S.
probes Viking 1 and Viking 2. Each Viking spacecraft con-
sisted of both an orbiter and a lander. Viking 1 made the first
successful soft landing on Mars on July 20, 1976. Soon
after, Viking 2 landed on the opposite side of the planet. The
Viking orbiters made reports on the Martian weather and
photographed almost the entire surface of the planet.

From ASTRONOMY & SPACE V2, 1E. © 1997 Gale, a part of
Cengage Learning, Inc. Reproduced by permission.

“Elementary Particles.” New Book of Popular Science. New
York: Scholastic, 2010. (2010)

California Invasive Plant Council. Invasive Plant Inventory.

http://www.cal-ipc.org/ip/inventory/index.php. 2006–
2010. (2010)

The Inventory categorizes plants as High, Moderate, or Limited,
reflecting the level of each species’ negative ecologi-
cal impact in California. Other factors, such as economic impact
or difficulty of management, are not included in this
assessment. It is important to note that even Limited species are
invasive and should be of concern to land managers.
Although the impact of each plant varies regionally, its rating
represents cumulative impacts statewide. Therefore, a
plant whose statewide impacts are categorized as Limited may
have more severe impacts in a particular region. Con-
versely, a plant categorized as having a High cumulative impact
across California may have very little impact in some
regions.

The Inventory Review Committee, Cal-IPC staff, and volunteers
drafted assessments for each plant based on the
formal criteria system described below. The committee solicited
information from land managers across the state
to complement the available literature. Assessments were
released for public review before the committee finalized
them. The 2006 list includes 39 High species, 65 Moderate
species, and 89 Limited species. Additional information,
including updated observations, will be added to this website
periodically, with revisions tracked and dated.

Definitions

The Inventory categorizes “invasive non-native plants that
threaten wildlands” according to the definitions below.
Plants were evaluated only if they invade California wildlands
with native habitat values. The Inventory does not in-
clude plants found solely in areas of human-caused disturbance
such as roadsides and cultivated agricultural fields.

• Wildlands are public and private lands that support native
ecosystems, including some working landscapes
such as grazed rangeland and active timberland.

• Non-native plants are species introduced to California
after European contact and as a direct or indirect result
of human activity.

• Invasive non-native plants that threaten wildlands are
plants that 1) are not native to, yet can spread into,
wildland ecosystems, and that also 2) displace native species,
hybridize with native species, alter biological
communities, or alter ecosystem processes.

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Sample Performance Tasks for Informational Texts:
History/Social Studies & Science,
Mathematics, and Technical Subjects

• Students analyze the governmental structure of the United
States and support their analysis by citing specific
textual evidence from primary sources such as the Preamble and
First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution as
well as secondary sources such as Linda R. Monk’s Words We
Live By: Your Annotated Guide to the Constitu-
tion. [RH.6–8.1]

• Students evaluate Jim Murphy’s The Great Fire to identify
which aspects of the text (e.g., loaded language
and the inclusion of particular facts) reveal his purpose;
presenting Chicago as a city that was “ready to burn.”
[RH.6–8.6]

• Students describe how Russell Freedman in his book
Freedom Walkers: The Story of the Montgomery Bus Boy-
cott integrates and presents information both sequentially and
causally to explain how the civil rights move-
ment began. [RH.6–8.5]

• Students integrate the quantitative or technical
information expressed in the text of David Macaulay’s Ca-
thedral: The Story of Its Construction with the information
conveyed by the diagrams and models Macaulay
provides, developing a deeper understanding of Gothic
architecture. [RST.6–8.7]

• Students construct a holistic picture of the history of
Manhattan by comparing and contrasting the information
gained from Donald Mackay’s The Building of Manhattan with
the multimedia sources available on the “Man-
hattan on the Web” portal hosted by the New York Public

Library (http://legacy.www.nypl.org/branch/manhat-
tan/index2.cfm?Trg=1&d1=865). [RST.6–8.9]

• Students learn about fractal geometry by reading Ivars
Peterson and Nancy Henderson’s Math Trek: Adven-
tures in the Math Zone and then generate their own fractal
geometric structure by following the multistep
procedure for creating a Koch’s curve. [RST.6–8.3]

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Grades 9–10 text exemplars

Stories

Homer. The Odyssey. Translated by Robert Fagles. New York:
Viking, 1996. (8th century BCE)

From Book One

Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns
driven time and again off course, once he had plundered
the hallowed heights of Troy.
Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds,
many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea,
fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home.
But he could not save them from disaster, hard as he strove—
the recklessness of their own ways destroyed them all,
the blind fools, they devoured the cattle of the Sun
and the Sungod blotted out the day of their return.
Launch out on his story, Muse, daughter of Zeus.
Start from where you will—sing for our time too.
By now,
all the survivors, all who avoided headlong death
were safe at home, escaped the wars and waves.
But one man alone…
his heart set on his wife and his return—Calypso,
the bewitching nymph, the lustrous goddess, held him back,
deep in her arching caverns, craving him for a husband.
But then, when the wheeling seasons brought the year around.
That year spun out by the gods when he should reach his home,
Ithaca—though not even there would he be free of trials,
even among his loved ones—then every god took pity,
all except Poseidon. He raged on, seething against
the great Odysseus till he reached his native land.

“Book 1: Athena Inspires the Prince” by Homer, from THE
ODYSSEY by Homer, translated by Robert Fagles, copyright
© 1996 by Robert Fagles. Used by permission of Viking
Penquin, a division of Penguin group (USA) Inc.

Ovid. Metamorphoses. Translated by A. S. Kline. Ann Arbor:
Borders Classics, 2004 (AD 8).
From “Daphne”

‘Wait nymph, daughter of Peneus, I beg you! I who am chasing
you am not your enemy. Nymph, Wait! This is the way
a sheep runs from the wolf, a deer from the mountain lion, and a
dove with fluttering wings flies from the eagle: ev-
erything flies from its foes, but it is love that is driving me to
follow you! Pity me! I am afraid you might fall headlong
or thorns undeservedly scar your legs and I be a cause of grief
to you! These are rough places you run through. Slow
down, I ask you, check your flight, and I too will slow. At least
enquire whom it is you have charmed. I am no mountain
man, no shepherd, no rough guardian of the herds and flocks.
Rash girl, you do not know, you cannot realise, who
you run from, and so you run. Delphi’s lands are mine, Claros
and Tenedos, and Patara acknowledges me king. Jupiter
is my father. Through me what was, what is, and what will be,
are revealed. Through me strings sound in harmony,
to song. My aim is certain, but an arrow truer than mine, has
wounded my free heart! The whole world calls me the
bringer of aid; medicine is my invention; my power is in herbs.
But love cannot be healed by any herb, nor can the arts
that cure others cure their lord!’

He would have said more as timid Peneïs ran, still lovely to see,
leaving him with his words unfinished. The winds
bared her body, the opposing breezes in her way fluttered her
clothes, and the light airs threw her streaming hair
behind her, her beauty enhanced by flight. But the young god
could no longer waste time on further blandishments,
urged on by Amor, he ran on at full speed. Like a hound of Gaul
starting a hare in an empty field, that heads for its
prey, she for safety: he, seeming about to clutch her, thinks
now, or now, he has her fast, grazing her heels with his
outstretched jaws, while she uncertain whether she is already
caught, escaping his bite, spurts from the muzzle touch-
ing her. So the virgin and the god: he driven by desire, she by

fear. He ran faster, Amor giving him wings, and allowed
her no rest, hung on her fleeing shoulders, breathed on the hair
flying round her neck. Her strength was gone, she

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grew pale, overcome by the effort of her rapid flight, and seeing
Peneus’s waters near cried out ‘Help me father! If
your streams have divine powers change me, destroy this beauty
that pleases too well!’ Her prayer was scarcely done
when a heavy numbness seized her limbs, thin bark closed over
her breast, her hair turned into leaves, her arms into
branches, her feet so swift a moment ago stuck fast in slow-
growing roots, her face was lost in the canopy. Only her
shining beauty was left.

Even like this Phoebus loved her and, placing his hand against

the trunk, he felt her heart still quivering under the new
bark. He clasped the branches as if they were parts of human
arms, and kissed the wood. But even the wood shrank
from his kisses, and the god said ‘Since you cannot be my bride,
you must be my tree! Laurel, with you my hair will
be wreathed, with you my lyre, with you my quiver. You will go
with the Roman generals when joyful voices acclaim
their triumph, and the Capitol witnesses their long processions.
You will stand outside Augustus’s doorposts, a faith-
ful guardian, and keep watch over the crown of oak between
them. And just as my head with its un-cropped hair is
always young, so you also will wear the beauty of undying
leaves.’ Paean had done: the laurel bowed her newly made
branches, and seemed to shake her leafy crown like a head
giving consent.

Gogol, Nikolai. “The Nose.” Translated by Ronald Wilks. Diary
of a Madman, and Other Stories. New York: Penguin,
1972. (1836)

An extraordinarily strange thing happened in St. Petersburg on
25 March. Ivan Yakovlevich, a barber who lived on
Voznesensky Avenue (his surname has got lost and all that his
shop-front signboard shows is a gentleman with a
lathered cheek and the inscription ‘We also let blood’) woke up
rather early one morning and smelt hot bread. As he
sat up in bed he saw his wife, who was a quite respectable lady
and a great coffee-drinker, taking some freshly baked
rolls out of the oven.

‘I don’t want any coffee today, Praskovya Osipovna,’ said Ivan
Yakovlevich. ‘I’ll make do with some hot rolls and onion
instead.’ (Here I must explain that Ivan Yakovlevich would
really have liked to have had some coffee as well, but knew
it was quite out of the question to expect both coffee and rolls,
since Praskovya Osipovna did not take very kindly to

these whims of his.) ‘Let the old fool have his bread, I don’t
mind,’ she thought. ‘That means extra coffee for me!’ And
she threw a roll on to the table.

Ivan pulled his frock-coat over his nightshirt for decency’s
sake, sat down at the table, poured out some salt, peeled
two onions, took a knife and with a determined expression on
his face started cutting one of the rolls.

When he had sliced the roll in two, he peered into the middle
and was amazed to see something white there. Ivan
carefully picked at it with his knife, and felt it with his finger.
‘Quite thick,’ he said to himself. ‘What on earth can it be?’

He poked two fingers in and pulled out—a nose!

He flopped back in his chair, and began rubbing his eyes and
feeling around in the roll again. Yes, it was a nose all
right, no mistake about that. And, what’s more, it seemed a very
familiar nose. His face filled with horror. But this hor-
ror was nothing compared with his wife’s indignation.

‘You beast, whose nose is that you’ve cut off?’ she cried
furiously. ‘You scoundrel! You drunkard! I’ll report it to the
police myself, I will. You thief! Come to think of it, I’ve heard
three customers say that when they come in for a shave
you start pulling their noses about so much it’s a wonder they
stay on at all!’

But Ivan felt more dead than alive. He knew that the nose
belonged to none other than Collegiate Assessor Kovalyov,
whom he shaved on Wednesdays and Sundays.

‘Wait a minute, Praskovya! I’ll wrap it up in a piece of cloth
and dump it in the corner. Let’s leave it there for a bit, then
I’ll try and get rid of it.’

‘I don’t want to know! Do you think I’m going to let a sawn-off
nose lie about in my room ... you fathead! All you can
do is strop that blasted razor of yours and let everything else go
to pot. Layabout! Night-bird! And you expect me to
cover up for you with the police! You filthy pig! Blockhead!
Get that nose out of here, out! Do what you like with it, but
I don’t want that thing hanging around here a minute longer!’

Ivan Yakovlevich was absolutely stunned. He thought and
thought, but just didn’t know what to make of it.

‘I’m damned if I know what’s happened!’ he said at last,
scratching the back of his ear. ‘I can’t say for certain if I came
home drunk or not last night. All I know is, it’s crazy. After all,
bread is baked in an oven, and you don’t get noses in
bakeries. Can’t make head or tail of it! ...’

Ivan Yakovlevich lapsed into silence. The thought that the
police might search the place, find the nose and afterwards
bring a charge against him, very nearly sent him out of his
mind. Already he could see that scarlet collar beautifully
embroidered with silver, that sword ... and he began shaking all
over. Finally he put on his scruffy old trousers and

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shoes and with Praskovya Osipovna’s vigorous invective
ringing in his ears, wrapped the nose up in a piece of cloth
and went out into the street.

All he wanted was to stuff it away somewhere, either hiding it
between two curb-stones by someone’s front door
or else ‘accidentally’ dropping it and slinking off down a side
street. But as luck would have it, he kept bumping into
friends, who would insist on asking: ‘Where are you off to?’ or
‘It’s a bit early for shaving customers, isn’t it?’ with the
result that he didn’t have a chance to get rid of it. Once he did
manage to drop it, but a policeman pointed with his
halberd and said: ‘Pick that up! Can’t you see you dropped
something!’ And Ivan Yakovlevich had to pick it up and
hide it in his pocket. Despair gripped him, especially as the
streets were getting more and more crowded now as the
shops and stalls began to open.

He decided to make his way to St. Isaac’s Bridge and see if he
could throw the nose into the River Neva without
anyone seeing him. But here I am rather at fault for not telling
you before something about Ivan Yakovlevich, who in
many ways was a man you could respect.

De Voltaire, F. A. M. Candide, Or The Optimist. Translated by
H. Morley. London: George Routledge and Sons, Ltd.,

1888. (1759)

In the country of Westphalia, in the castle of the most noble
Baron of Thunder-ten-tronckh, lived a youth whom
Nature had endowed with a most sweet disposition. His face
was the true index of his mind. He had a solid judgment
joined to the most unaffected simplicity; and hence, I presume,
he had his name of Candide. The old servants of the
house suspected him to have been the son of the Baron’s sister,
by a very good sort of a gentleman of the neigh-
borhood, whom that young lady refused to marry, because he
could produce no more than threescore and eleven
quarterings in his arms; the rest of the genealogical tree
belonging to the family having been lost through the injuries
of time.

The Baron was one of the most powerful lords in Westphalia,
for his castle had not only a gate, but even windows,
and his great hall was hung with tapestry. He used to hunt with
his mastiffs and spaniels instead of greyhounds; his
groom served him for huntsman; and the parson of the parish
officiated as his grand almoner. He was called “My
Lord” by all his people, and he never told a story but everyone
laughed at it.

My Lady Baroness, who weighed three hundred and fifty
pounds, consequently was a person of no small consider-
ation; and then she did the honors of the house with a dignity
that commanded universal respect. Her daughter was
about seventeen years of age, fresh-colored, comely, plump, and
desirable. The Baron’s son seemed to be a youth
in every respect worthy of the father he sprung from. Pangloss,
the preceptor, was the oracle of the family, and little
Candide listened to his instructions with all the simplicity
natural to his age and disposition.

Master Pangloss taught the metaphysico-theologo-cosmolo-
nigology. He could prove to admiration that there is no
effect without a cause; and, that in this best of all possible
worlds, the Baron’s castle was the most magnificent of all
castles, and My Lady the best of all possible baronesses.

“It is demonstrable,” said he, “that things cannot be otherwise
than as they are; for as all things have been created for
some end, they must necessarily be created for the best end.
Observe, for instance, the nose is formed for spectacles,
therefore we wear spectacles. The legs are visibly designed for
stockings, accordingly we wear stockings. Stones were
made to be hewn and to construct castles, therefore My Lord has
a magnificent castle; for the greatest baron in the
province ought to be the best lodged. Swine were intended to be
eaten, therefore we eat pork all the year round: and
they, who assert that everything is right, do not express
themselves correctly; they should say that everything is best.”

Candide listened attentively and believed implicitly, for he
thought Miss Cunegund excessively handsome, though he
never had the courage to tell her so. He concluded that next to
the happiness of being Baron of Thunder-ten-tronckh,
the next was that of being Miss Cunegund, the next that of
seeing her every day, and the last that of hearing the doc-
trine of Master Pangloss, the greatest philosopher of the whole
province, and consequently of the whole world.

One day when Miss Cunegund went to take a walk in a little
neighboring wood which was called a park, she saw,
through the bushes, the sage Doctor Pangloss giving a lecture in
experimental philosophy to her mother’s chamber-
maid, a little brown wench, very pretty, and very tractable.

As Miss Cunegund had a great disposition for the sciences, she
observed with the utmost attention the experiments

which were repeated before her eyes; she perfectly well
understood the force of the doctor’s reasoning upon causes
and effects. She retired greatly flurried, quite pensive and filled
with the desire of knowledge, imagining that she
might be a sufficing reason for young Candide, and he for her.

In her way back she happened to meet the young man; she
blushed, he blushed also; she wished him a good morning
in a flattering tone, he returned the salute, without knowing
what he said. The next day, as they were rising from din-
ner, Cunegund and Candide slipped behind the screen. The miss
dropped her handkerchief, the young man picked it
up. She innocently took hold of his hand, and he as innocently
kissed hers with a warmth, a sensibility, a grace-all very

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particular; their lips met; their eyes sparkled; their knees
trembled; their hands strayed. The Baron chanced to come
by; he beheld the cause and effect, and, without hesitation,
saluted Candide with some notable kicks on the breech
and drove him out of doors. The lovely Miss Cunegund fainted
away, and, as soon as she came to herself, the Baroness
boxed her ears. Thus a general consternation was spread over
this most magnificent and most agreeable of all pos-
sible castles.

Turgenev, Ivan. Fathers and Sons. Translated by Constance
Garnett. New York: Dover, 1998. (1862)

“WELL, Piotr, not in sight yet?” was the question asked on May
the 20th, 1859, by a gentleman of a little over forty, in
a dusty coat and checked trousers, who came out without his hat
on to the low steps of the posting station at S ?. He
was addressing his servant, a chubby young fellow, with whitish
down on his chin, and little, lack-lustre eyes.

The servant, in whom everything--the turquoise ring in his ear,
the streaky hair plastered with grease, and the civil-
ity of his movements--indicated a man of the new, unproved
generation, glanced with an air of indulgence along the
road, and made answer:

“No, sir; not in sight.”

“Not in sight?” repeated his master.

“No, sir,” responded the man a second time.

His master sighed, and sat down on a little bench. We will
introduce him to the reader while he sits, his feet tucked
under him, gazing thoughtfully round.

His name was Nikolai Petrovitch Kirsanov. He had twelve miles
from the posting station, a fine property of two
hundred souls, or, as he expressed it--since he had arranged the
division of his land with the peasants, and started a
?farm?--of nearly five thousand acres. His father, a general in
the army, who served in 1812, a coarse, half-educated,
but not ill-natured man, a typical Russian, had been in harness
all his life, first in command of a brigade, and then of
a division, and lived constantly in the provinces, where, by
virtue of his rank, he played a fairly important part. Nikolai
Petrovitch was born in the south of Russia like his elder
brother, Pavel, of whom more hereafter. He was educated at
home till he was fourteen, surrounded by cheap tutors, free-and-
easy but toadying adjutants, and all the usual regi-
mental and staff set. His mother, one of the Kolyazin family, as
a girl called Agathe, but as a general’s wife Agathok-
leya Kuzminishna Kirsanov, was one of those military ladies
who take their full share of the duties and dignities of of-
fice. She wore gorgeous caps and rustling silk dresses; in
church she was the first to advance to the cross; she talked
a great deal in a loud voice, let her children kiss her hand in the
morning, and gave them her blessing at night--in fact,
she got everything out of life she could. Nikolai Petrovitch, as a
general’s son--though so far from being distinguished
by courage that he even deserved to be called ?a funk?--was
intended, like his brother Pavel, to enter the army; but
he broke his leg on the very day when the news of his
commission came, and, after being two months in bed, re-
tained a slight limp to the end of his day. His father gave him
up as a bad job, and let him go into the civil service. He
took him to Petersburg directly he was eighteen, and placed him
in the university. His brother happened about the
same time to be made an officer in the Guards. The young men
started living together in one set of rooms, under the
remote supervision of a cousin on their mother’s side, Ilya
Kolyazin, an official of high rank. Their father returned to

his division and his wife, and only rarely sent his sons large
sheets of grey paper, scrawled over in a bold clerkly hand.
At the bottom of these sheets stood in letters, enclosed carefully
in scroll-work, the words, “Piotr Kirsanov, General-
Major.”

Henry, O. “The Gift of the Magi.” The Best Short Stories of O.
Henry. New York: Modern Library, 1994. (1906)

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then
an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick
feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the
immediate employment of all the comforting powers
of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs—the set of combs, side and back, that
Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window.
Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims—just
the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They
were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply
craved and yearned over them without the least hope of
possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should
have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able
to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: “My
hair grows so fast, Jim!”

And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, “Oh,
oh!”

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him
eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal
seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

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“Isn’t it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You’ll
have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give
me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it.”

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his
hands under the back of his head and smiled.

“Dell,” said he, “let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep
‘em a while. They’re too nice to use just at present. I
sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now
suppose you put the chops on.”

The magi, as you know, were wise men—wonderfully wise
men—who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They
invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their
gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the

privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have
lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two
foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each
other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last
word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give
gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and
receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are
wisest. They are the magi.

Kafka, Franz. The Metamorphosis. Translated by Stanley
Corngold. New York: Bantam, 1972. (1915)

When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling
dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a mon-
strous vermin. He was lying on his back as hard as armor plate,
and when he lifted his head a little, he saw his vaulted
brown belly, sectioned by arch-shaped ribs, to whose dome the
cover, about to slide off completely, could barely
cling. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of
the rest of him, were waving helplessly before his eyes.

“What’s happened to me?” he thought. It was no dream. His
room, a regular human room, only a little on the small
side, lay quiet between the four familiar walls. Over the table,
on which an unpacked line of fabric samples was all
spread out--Samsa was a traveling salesman--hung the picture
which he had recently cut out of a glossy magazine
and lodged in a pretty gilt frame. It showed a lady done up in a
fur hat and a fur boa, sitting upright and raising up
against the viewer a heavy fur muff in which her whole forearm
had disappeared.

Gregor’s eyes then turned to the window, and the overcast
weather--he could hear raindrops hitting against the
metal window ledge--completely depressed him. “How about
going back to sleep for a few minutes and forgetting

all this nonsense,” he thought, but that was completely
impracticable, since he was used to sleeping on his right side
and in his present state could not get into that position. No
matter how hard he threw himself onto his right side, he
always rocked onto his back again. He must have tried it a
hundred times, closing his eyes so as not to have to see his
squirming legs, and stopped only when he began to feel a slight,
dull pain in his side, which he had never felt before.

Steinbeck, John. The Grapes of Wrath. New York: Viking,
1967. (1939)
From Chapter 15

The man took off his dark, stained hat and stood with a curious
humility in front of the screen. “Could you see your
way to sell us a loaf of bread, ma’am?”

Mae said, “This ain’t a grocery store. We got bread to make
san’widges.”

“I know, ma’am.” His humility was insistent. “We need bread
and there ain’t nothin’ for quite a piece, they say.”

“‘F we sell bread we gonna run out.” Mae’s tone was faltering.

“We’re hungry,” the man said.

“Whyn’t you buy a san’widge? We got nice san’widges,
hamburgs.”

“We’d sure admire to do that, ma’am. But we can’t. We got to
make a dime do all of us.” And he said embarrassedly,
“We ain’t got but a little.”

Mae said, “You can’t get no loaf a bread for a dime. We only
got fifteen-cent loafs.”

From behind her Al growled, “God Almighty, Mae, give ‘em
bread.”

“We’ll run out ‘fore the bread truck comes.”

“Run out then, goddamn it,” said Al. He looked sullenly down
at the potato salad he was mixing.

Mae shrugged her plump shoulders and looked to the truck
drivers to show them what she was up against.

She held the screen door open and the man came in, bringing a
smell of sweat with him. The boys edged behind him
and they went immediately to the candy case and stared in—not
with craving or with hope or even with desire, but

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just with a kind of wonder that such things could be. They were
alike in size and their faces were alike. One scratched
his dusty ankle with the toe nails of his other foot. The other
whispered some soft message and then they straight-
ened their arms so that their clenched fists in the overall
pockets showed through the thin blue cloth.

Mae opened a drawer and took out a long waxpaper-wrapped
loaf. “This here is a fifteen-cent loaf.”

The man put his hat back on his head. He answered with
inflexible humility, “Won’t you—can’t you see your way to cut
off ten cents’ worth?”

Al said snarlingly, “Goddamn it, Mae. Give ‘em the loaf.”

The man turned toward Al. “No, we want ta buy ten cents’
worth of it. We got it figgered awful close, mister, to get to
California.”

Mae said resignedly, “You can have this for ten cents.”

“That’d be robbin’ you, ma’am.”

“Go ahead—Al says to take it.” She pushed the waxpapered loaf
across the counter. The man took a deep leather
pouch from his rear pocket, untied the strings, and spread it
open. It was heavy with silver and with greasy bills.

“May soun’ funny to be so tight,” he apologized. “We got a
thousan’ miles to go, an’ we don’ know if we’ll make it.” He
dug in the pouch with a forefinger, located a dime, and pinched
in for it. When he put it down on the counter he had
a penny with it. He was about to drop the penny back into the

pouch when his eye fell on the boys frozen before the
candy counter. He moved slowly down to them. He pointed in
the case at big long sticks of striped peppermint. “Is
them penny candy, ma’am?”

Mae moved down and looked in. “Which ones?”

“There, them stripy ones.”

The little boys raised their eyes to her face and they stopped
breathing; their mouths were partly opened, their half-
naked bodies were rigid.

“Oh—them. Well, no—them’s two for a penny.”

“Well, gimme two then, ma’am.” He placed the copper cent
carefully on the counter. The boys expelled their held
breath softly. Mae held the big sticks out.

Bradbury, Ray. Fahrenheit 451. New York: Ballantine, 1987.
(1953)
From Part 1: “The Hearth and the Salamander”

It was a pleasure to burn.

It was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things
blackened and changed. With the brass nozzle in his
fists, with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene
upon the world, the blood pounded in his head, and his
hands were the hands of some amazing conductor playing all the
symphonies of blazing and burning to bring down
the tatters and charcoal ruins of history. With his symbolic
helmet numbered 451 on his stolid head, and his eyes all
orange flame with the thought of what came next, he flicked the
igniter and the house jumped up in a gorging fire
that burned the evening sky red and yellow and black. He strode

in a swarm of fireflies. He wanted above all, like the
old joke, to shove a marshmallow on a stick in the furnace,
while the flapping pigeon-winged books died on the porch
and lawn of the house. While the books went up in sparkling
whirls and blew away on a wind turned dark with burn-
ing.

Montag grinned the fierce grin of all men singed and driven
back by flame.

He knew that when he returned to the firehouse, he might wink
at himself, a minstrel man, burnt-corked, in the mirror.
Later, going to sleep, he would feel the fiery smile still gripped
by his face muscles, in the dark. It never went away,
that smile, it never ever went away, as long as he remembered.

Olsen, Tillie. “I Stand Here Ironing.” Tell Me a Riddle. New
York: Dell, 1956. (1956)
From “I Stand Here Ironing”

I stand here ironing, and what you asked me moves tormented
back and forth with the iron.

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“I wish you would manage the time to come in and talk with me
about your daughter. I’m sure you can help me under-
stand her. She’s a youngster who needs help and whom I’m
deeply interested in helping.”

“Who needs help”…Even if I came, what good would it do? You
think because I am her mother I have a key, or that in
some way you could use me as a key? She has lived for nineteen
years. There is all that like that has happened outside
of me, beyond me.

And when is there time to remember, to sift, to weigh, to
estimate, to total? I will start and there will be an interrup-
tion and I will have to gather it all together again. Or I will
become engulfed with all I did or did not do, with what
should have been and what cannot be helped.

She was a beautiful baby. The first and only one of our five that
was beautiful at birth. You do not guess how new and
uneasy her tenancy in her now-loveliness. You did not know her
all those years she was thought homely, or see her
peering over her baby pictures, making me tell her over and
over how beautiful she had been—and would be, I would
tell her—and was now, to the seeing eye. But the seeing eyes
were few or non-existent. Including mine.

Achebe, Chinua. Things Fall Apart. New York: Anchor, 1994.
(1958)

Okonkwo was well known throughout the nine villages and even
beyond. His fame rested on solid personal achieve-
ments. As a young man of eighteen he had brought honor to his
village by throwing Amalinze the Cat. Amalinze was
the great wrestler who for seven years was unbeaten, from
Umuofia to Mbaino. He was called the Cat because his
back would never touch the earth. It was this man that Okonkwo
threw in a fight which the old men agreed was one
of the fiercest since the founder of their town engaged a spirit
of the wild for seven days and seven nights.

The drums beat and the flutes sang and the spectators held their
breath. Amalinze was a wily craftsman, but Okonk-
wo was as slippery as a fish in water. Every nerve and every
muscle stood out on their arms, on their backs and their
thighs, and one almost heard them stretching to breaking point.
In the end Okonkwo threw the Cat.

That was many years ago, twenty years or more, and during this
time Okonkwo’s fame had grown like a bush-fire in
the harmattan. He was tall and huge, and his bushy eyebrows
and wide nose gave him a very severe look. He breathed
heavily, and it was said that, when he slept, his wives and
children in their houses could hear him breathe. When he
walked, his heels hardly touched the ground and he seemed to
walk on springs, as if he was going to pounce on
somebody. And he did pounce on people quite often. He had a
slight stammer and whenever he was angry and could
not get his words out quickly enough, he would use his fists. He
had no patience with unsuccessful men. He had had
no patience with his father.

Unoka, for that was his father’s name, had died ten years ago.
In his day he was lazy and improvident and was quite
incapable of thinking about tomorrow. If any money came his

way, and it seldom did, he immediately bought gourds
of palm-wine, called round his neighbors and made merry. He
always said that whenever he saw a dead man’s mouth
he saw the folly of not eating what one had in one’s lifetime.
Unoka was, of course, a debtor, and he owed every
neighbor some money, from a few cowries to quite substantial
amounts.

He was tall but very thin and had a slight stoop. He wore a
haggard and mournful look except when he was drinking
or playing on his flute. He was very good on his flute, and his
happiest moments were the two or three moons after
the harvest when the village musicians brought down their
instruments, hung above the fireplace. Unoka would play
with them, his face beaming with blessedness and peace.
Sometimes another village would ask Unoka’s band and
their dancing egwugwu to come and stay with them and teach
them their tunes. They would go to such hosts for as
long as three or four markets, making music and feasting.
Unoka loved the good fare and the good fellowship, and he
loved this season of the year, when the rains had stopped and
the sun rose every morning with dazzling beauty. And
it was not too hot either, because the cold and dry harmattan
wind was blowing down from the north. Some years the
harmattan was very severe and a dense haze hung on the
atmosphere. Old men and children would then sit round log
fires, warming their bodies. Unoka loved it all, and he loved the
first kites that returned with the dry season, and the
children who sang songs of welcome to them. He would
remember his own childhood, how he had often wandered
around looking for a kite sailing leisurely against the blue sky.
As soon as he found one he would sing with his whole
being, welcoming it back from its long, long journey, and
asking it if it had brought home any lengths of cloth.

Lee, Harper. To Kill A Mockingbird. New York: HarperCollins

Publishers, 2006. (1960)
From Chapter One

When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly
broken at the elbow. When it healed, and Jem’s fears
of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was
seldom self-conscious about his injury. His left arm was
somewhat shorter than his right; when he stood or walked, the
back of his hand was at right angles to his body, his
thumb parallel to his thigh. He couldn’t have cared less, so long
as he could pass and punt.

When enough years had gone by to enable us to look back on
them, we sometimes discussed the events leading to

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his accident. I maintain that the Ewells started it all, but Jem,
who was four years my senior, said it started long before
that. He said it began the summer Dill came to us, when Dill
first gave us the idea of making Boo Radley come out.

I said if he wanted to take a broad view of the thing, it really
began with Andrew Jackson. If General Jackson hadn’t
run the Creeks up the creek, Simon Finch would never have
paddled up the Alabama, and where would we be if he
hadn’t? We were far too old to settle an argument with a fist-
fight, so we consulted Atticus. Our father said we were
both right.

Shaara, Michael. The Killer Angels. New York: Ballantine,
1996. (1975)
From “Longstreet”

“. . . have no doubt,” Fremantle was saying, “that General Lee
shall become the world’s foremost authority on military
matters when this war is over, which would appear now to be
only a matter of days, or at most a few weeks. I suspect
all Europe will be turning to him for lessons.”

Lessons?

“I have been thinking, I must confess, of setting some brief
thoughts to paper,” Fremantle announced gravely. “Some
brief remarks of my own, appended to an account of this battle,
and perhaps others this army has fought. Some notes
as to tactics.”

Tactics?

“General Lee’s various stratagems will be most instructive,
most illuminating. I wonder, sir, if I might enlist your aid in
this, ah, endeavor. As one most closely concerned? That is, to

be brief, may I come to you when in need?”

“Sure,” Longstreet said. Tactics? He chuckled. The tactics were
simple: find the enemy, fight him. He shook his head,
snorting. Fremantle spoke softly, in tones of awe.

“One would not think of General Lee, now that one has met
him, now that one has looked him, so to speak, in the eye,
as it were, one would not think him, you know, to be such a
devious man.”

“Devious?” Longstreet swung to stare at him, aghast.

“Oh my word,” Fremantle went on devoutly, “but he’s a tricky
one. The Old Gray Fox, as they say. Charming phrase.
American to the hilt.”

“Devious?” Longstreet stopped dead in the road. “Devious.” He
laughed aloud. Fremantle stared an owlish stare.

“Why, Colonel, bless your soul, there ain’t a devious bone in
Robert Lee’s body, don’t you know that?”

Tan, Amy. The Joy Luck Club. New York: Ballantine, 1989.
(1989)
From “Jing-Mei Woo: Two Kinds”

My mother believed you could be anything you wanted to be in
America. You could open a restaurant. You could work
for the government and get good retirement. You could buy a
house with almost no money down. You could become
rich. You could become instantly famous.

“Of course you can be prodigy, too,” my mother told me when I
was nine. “You can be best anything. What does Aun-
tie Lindo know? Her daughter, she is only best tricky.”

America was where all my mother’s hopes lay. She had come
here in 1949 after losing everything in China: her mother
and father, her family home, her first husband, and two
daughters, twin baby girls. But she never looked back with
regret. There were so many ways for things to get better.

We didn’t immediately pick the right kind of prodigy. At first
my mother thought I could be a Chinese Shirley Temple.
We’d watch Shirley’s old movies on TV as though they were
training films. My mother would poke my arm and say,
“Ni kan”—You watch. And I would see Shirley tapping her feet,
or singing a sailor song, or pursing her lips into a very
round O while saying, “Oh my goodness.”

“Ni kan,” said my mother as Shirley’s eyes flooded with tears.
“You already know how. Don’t need talent for crying!”

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Álvarez, Julia. In the Time of the Butterflies. Chapel Hill:
Algonquin, 1994. (1994)
From Chapter 1: “Dedé 1994 and circa 1943”

She remembers a clear moonlit night before the future began.
They are sitting in the cool darkness under the anaca-
huita tree in the front yard, in the rockers, telling stories,
drinking guanabana juice. Good for the nerves, Mamá always
says.

They’re all there, Mamá, Papá, Patria-Minerva-Dedé. Bang-
bang-bang, their father likes to joke, aiming a pistol finger
at each one, as if he were shooting them, not boasting about
having sired them, Three girls, each born within a year of
each other! And then, nine years later, Maria Teresa, his final
desperate attempt at a boy misfiring.

Their father has his slippers on, one foot hooked behind the
other. Every once in a while Dedé hears the clink of the
rum bottle against the rim of his glass.

Many a night, and this night is no different, a shy voice calls
out of the darkness, begging their pardon. Could they
spare a calmante for a sick child out of their stock of kindness?
Would they have some tobacco for a tired old man
who spent the day grating yucca?

Their father gets up, swaying a little with drink and tiredness,
and opens up the store. The campesino goes off with his
medicine, a couple of cigars, a few mints for the godchildren.
Dedé tells her father that she doesn’t know how they do
as well as they do, the way he gives everything away. But her
father just puts his arm around her, and says, “Ay, Dedé,

that’s why I have you. Every soft foot needs a hard shoe.”

She’ll bury us all,” her father adds, laughing, “in silk and
pearls.” Dedé hears again the clink of the rum bottle. “Yes, for
sure, our Dedé here is going to be the millionaire in the family.”

Zusak, Marcus. The Book Thief. New York: Knopf, 2005.
(2005)
From “The Flag”

The last time I saw her was red. The sky was like soup, boiling
and stirring. In some places it was burned. There were
black crumbs, and pepper, streaked amongst the redness.

Earlier, kids had been playing hopscotch there, on the street that
looked like oil-stained pages. When I arrived I could
still hear the echoes. The feet tapping the road. The children-
voices laughing, and the smiles like salt, but decaying
fast.

Then, bombs.

This time, everything was too late.

The sirens. The cuckoo shrieks in the radio. All too late.

Within minutes, mounds of concrete and earth were stacked and
piled. The streets were ruptured veins. Blood
streamed till it was dried on the road, and the bodies were stuck
there, like driftwood after the flood.

They were glued down, every last one of them. A packet of
souls.

Was it fate?

Misfortune?

Is that what glued them down like that?

Of course not.

Let’s not be stupid.

It probably had more to do with the hurled bombs, thrown
down by humans hiding in the clouds.

For hours, the sky remained a devastating, home-cooked red.
The small German town had been flung apart
one more time. Snowflakes of ash fell so lovelily you were
tempted to stretch out your tongue to catch them, taste
them. Only, they would have scorched your lips. They would
have cooked your mouth.

Clearly, I see it.

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I was just about to leave when I found her kneeling there.

A mountain range of rubble was written, designed, erected
around her. She was clutching at a book.

Apart from everything else, the book thief wanted desperately
to go back to the basement, to write, or read through
her story one last time. In hindsight, I see it so obviously on her
face. She was dying for it—the safety, the home of it—
but she could not move. Also, the basement no longer existed. It
was part of the mangled landscape.

Drama

Sophocles. Oedipus Rex. From The Theban Plays (also known
as The Oedipus Trilogy). Translated by F. Storr. Dodo
Press, 2009. (429 BC)

OEDIPUS

My children, latest born to Cadmus old,
Why sit ye here as suppliants, in your hands
Branches of olive filleted with wool?
What means this reek of incense everywhere,
And everywhere laments and litanies?
Children, it were not meet that I should learn
From others, and am hither come, myself,
I Oedipus, your world-renowned king.
Ho! aged sire, whose venerable locks
Proclaim thee spokesman of this company,
Explain your mood and purport. Is it dread
Of ill that moves you or a boon ye crave?
My zeal in your behalf ye cannot doubt;

Ruthless indeed were I and obdurate
If such petitioners as you I spurned.

PRIEST

Yea, Oedipus, my sovereign lord and king,
Thou seest how both extremes of age besiege
Thy palace altars--fledglings hardly winged,
And greybeards bowed with years, priests, as am I
Of Zeus, and these the flower of our youth.
Meanwhile, the common folk, with wreathed boughs
Crowd our two market-places, or before
Both shrines of Pallas congregate, or where
Ismenus gives his oracles by fire.
For, as thou seest thyself, our ship of State,
Sore buffeted, can no more lift her head,
Foundered beneath a weltering surge of blood.
A blight is on our harvest in the ear,
A blight upon the grazing flocks and herds,
A blight on wives in travail; and withal
Armed with his blazing torch the God of Plague
Hath swooped upon our city emptying
The house of Cadmus, and the murky realm
Of Pluto is full fed with groans and tears.

Therefore, O King, here at thy hearth we sit,
I and these children; not as deeming thee
A new divinity, but the first of men;
First in the common accidents of life,
And first in visitations of the Gods.
Art thou not he who coming to the town
Of Cadmus freed us from the tax we paid
To the fell songstress? Nor hadst thou received

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Prompting from us or been by others schooled;
No, by a god inspired (so all men deem,
And testify) didst thou renew our life.
And now, O Oedipus, our peerless king,
All we thy votaries beseech thee, find
Some succor, whether by a voice from heaven
Whispered, or haply known by human wit.
Tried counselors, methinks, are aptest found
To furnish for the future pregnant rede.
Upraise, O chief of men, upraise our State!
Look to thy laurels! for thy zeal of yore
Our country’s savior thou art justly hailed:
O never may we thus record thy reign:--
“He raised us up only to cast us down.”
Uplift us, build our city on a rock.
Thy happy star ascendant brought us luck,
O let it not decline! If thou wouldst rule
This land, as now thou reignest, better sure
To rule a peopled than a desert realm.

Nor battlements nor galleys aught avail,
If men to man and guards to guard them tail.

OEDIPUS

Ah! my poor children, known, ah, known too well,
The quest that brings you hither and your need.
Ye sicken all, well wot I, yet my pain,
How great soever yours, outtops it all.
Your sorrow touches each man severally,
Him and none other, but I grieve at once
Both for the general and myself and you.
Therefore ye rouse no sluggard from day-dreams.
Many, my children, are the tears I’ve wept,
And threaded many a maze of weary thought.
Thus pondering one clue of hope I caught,
And tracked it up; I have sent Menoeceus’ son,
Creon, my consort’s brother, to inquire
Of Pythian Phoebus at his Delphic shrine,
How I might save the State by act or word.
And now I reckon up the tale of days
Since he set forth, and marvel how he fares.
‘Tis strange, this endless tarrying, passing strange.
But when he comes, then I were base indeed,
If I perform not all the god declares.

PRIEST

Thy words are well timed; even as thou speakest
That shouting tells me Creon is at hand.

Shakespeare, William. The Tragedy of Macbeth. New Haven:
Yale University Press, 1954. (c1611)

ACT V. SCENE I.

Dunsinane. Anteroom in the castle.

Enter a Doctor of Physic and a Waiting Gentlewoman.

Doctor. I have two nights watch’d with you, but can perceive
no truth in your report. When was it she last walk’d?

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Gentlewoman. Since his majesty went into the field, have
seen her rise from her bed, throw her nightgown upon her,
unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold it, write upon’t, read it,
afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this
while in a most fast sleep.

Doctor. A great perturbation in nature, to receive at once the
benefit of sleep and do the effects of watching! In this

slumbery agitation, besides her walking and other actual
performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say?

Gentlewoman. That, sir, which I will not report after her.

Doctor. You may to me, and ‘tis most meet you should.

Gentlewoman. Neither to you nor anyone, having no witness
to confirm my speech.

Enter Lady Macbeth, with a taper.

Lo you, here she comes. This is her very guise, and upon my
life, fast asleep. Observe her; stand close.

Doctor. How came she by that light?

Gentlewoman. Why, it stood by her. She has light by her
continually; ‘tis her command.

Doctor. You see her eyes are open.

Gentlewoman. Ay, but their sense are shut.

Doctor. What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her
hands.

Gentlewoman. It is an accustom’d action with her, to seem
thus washing her hands. I have known her continue in this
a quarter of an hour.

Lady Macbeth. Yet here’s a spot.

Doctor. Hark! She speaks. I will set down what comes from
her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly.

Lady Macbeth. Out, damned spot! Out, I say! One; two. Why,
then, ‘tis time to do’t. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie! A
soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when
none can call our power to accompt? Yet who would have
thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

Doctor. Do you mark that?

Lady Macbeth. The Thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she
now? What, will these hands ne’er be clean? No more o’
that, my lord, no more o’ that! You mar all with this starting.

Doctor. Go to, go to! You have known what you should not.

Gentlewoman. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure
of that. Heaven knows what she has known.

Lady Macbeth. Here’s the smell of the blood still. All the
perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh,
oh!

Doctor. What a sigh is there! The heart is sorely charg’d.

Gentlewoman. I would not have such a heart in my bosom for
the dignity of the whole body.

Doctor. Well, well, well.

Gentlewoman. Pray God it be, sir.

Doctor. This disease is beyond my practice. Yet I have known
those which have walked in their sleep who have died
holily in their beds.

Lady Macbeth. Wash your hands, put on your nightgown, look
not so pale. I tell you yet again, Banquo’s buried; he

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cannot come out on’s grave.

Doctor. Even so?

Lady Macbeth. To bed, to bed! There’s knocking at the gate.
Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What’s
done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed! Exit Lady.

Doctor. Will she go now to bed?

Gentlewoman. Directly.

Doctor. Foul whisp’rings are abroad. Unnatural deeds

Do breed unnatural troubles. Infected minds

To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.

More needs she the divine than the physician.

God, God, forgive us all! Look after her;

Remove from her the means of all annoyance,

And still keep eyes upon her. So, good night.

My mind she has mated, and amaz’d my sight.

I think, but dare not speak.

Gentlewoman. Good night, good doctor.

Exeunt.

Media Text
Judi Dench (Lady Macbeth) performs this scene in a 1979
production with Ian McKellen:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IOkyZWQ2bmQ
McKellen analyzes the “To-morrow and to-morrow and to-
morrow” speech from Act V, Scene 5:
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=883718043846080512
#docid=7225091828250988008

Ibsen, Henrik. A Doll’s House. New York: Signet Classics,
2006. (1879)
From Act I

Helmer (in his room). Is that my lark twittering there ?

Nora (busy opening some of her parcels). Yes, it is.

Helmer. Is it the squirrel frisking around ?

Nora. Yes !

Helmer. When did the squirrel get home ?

Nora. Just this minute. (Hides the bag of macaroons in her
pocket and wipes her mouth.) Come here, Torvald, and see
what I’ve been buying.

Helmer. Don’t interrupt me. (A little later he opens the door and
looks in, pen in hand.) Buying, did you say ? What !
All that ? Has my little spendthrift been making the money fly
again ?

Nora. Why, Torvald, surely we can afford to launch out a little
now. It’s the first Christmas we haven’t had to pinch.

Helmer. Come, come ; we can’t afford to squander money.

Nora. Oh yes, Torvald, do let us squander a little, now — just
the least little bit ! You know you’ll soon be earning heaps
of money.

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Helmer. Yes, from New Year’s Day. But there’s a whole quarter
before my first salary is due.

Nora. Never mind ; we can borrow in the meantime.

Helmer. Nora ! (He goes up to her and takes her playfully by
the ear.) Still my little featherbrain ! Supposing I bor-
rowed a thousand crowns to-day, and you made ducks and
drakes of them during Christmas week, and

then on New Year’s Eve a tile blew off the roof and knocked my
brains out

Nora (laying her hand on his mouth). Hush ! How can you talk
so horridly ?

Helmer. But supposing it were to happen — what then ?

Nora. If anything so dreadful happened, it would be all the same
to me whether I was in debt or not.

Helmer. But what about the creditors ?

Nora. They ! Who cares for them ? They’re only strangers.

Helmer. Nora, Nora ! What a woman you are ! But seriously,
Nora, you know my principles on these points. No debts
! No borrowing ! Home life ceases to be free and beautiful as
soon as it is founded on borrowing and debt. We two
have held out bravely till now, and we are not going to give in

at the last.

Nora (going to the fireplace). Very well — as you please,
Torvald.

Williams, Tennessee. The Glass Menagerie. New York: New
Directions, 1966. (1944)
From Scene 5

TOM: What are you doing?

AMANDA: I’m brushing that cowlick down! [She attacks his
hair with the brush.] What is this young man’s position at
the warehouse?

TOM [submitting grimly to the brush and interrogation]: This
young man’s position is that of a shipping clerk, Mother.

AMANDA: Sounds to me like a fairly responsible job, the sort
of a job you would be in if you had more get-up. What is
his salary? Have you any idea?

TOM: I would judge it to be approximately eighty-five dollars a
month.

AMANDA: Well—not princely—but—

TOM: Twenty more than I make.

AMANDA: Yes, how well I know! But for a family man, eighty-
five dollars a month is not much more than you can just
get by on....

TOM: Yes, but Mr. O’Connor is not a family man.

AMANDA: He might be, mightn’t he? Some time in the future?

TOM: I see. Plans and provisions.

AMANDA: You are the only young man that I know of who
ignores the fact that the future becomes the present, the
present the past, and the past turns into everlasting regret if you
don’t plan for it!

TOM: I will think that over and see what I can make of it.

AMANDA: Don’t be supercilious with your mother! Tell me
some more about this—what do you call him?

TOM: James D. O’Connor. The D. is for Delaney.

AMANDA: Irish on both sides! Gracious! And doesn’t drink?

TOM: Shall I call him up and ask him right this minute?

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AMANDA: The only way to find out about those things is to
make discreet inquiries at the proper moment. When
I was a girl in Blue Mountain and it was suspected that a young
man drank, the girl whose attentions he had been
receiving, if any girl was, would sometimes speak to the
minister of his church, or rather her father would if her father
was living, and sort of feel him out on the young man’s
character. That is the way such things are discreetly handled
to keep a young woman from making a tragic mistake!

TOM: Then how did you happen to make a tragic mistake?

AMANDA: That innocent look of your father’s had everyone
fooled! He smiled—the world was enchanted! No girl can
do worse than put herself at the mercy of a handsome
appearance! I hope that Mr. O’Connor is not too good-looking.

Ionesco, Eugene. “Rhinoceros.” Translated by Derek Prouse.
Rhinoceros and Other Plays. New York: Grove Press,
1960. (1959)
From Act Two

BERENGER: [coming in] Hello Jean!

JEAN: [in bed] What time is it? Aren’t you at the office?

BERENGER: You’re still in bed; you’re not at the office, then?
Sorry if I’m disturbing you.

JEAN: [still with his back turned] Funny, I didn’t recognize
your voice.

BERENGER: I didn’t recognize yours either.

JEAN: [still with his back turned] Sit down!

BERENGER: Aren’t you feeling well?

[JEAN replies with a grunt.]

You know, Jean, it was stupid of me to get so upset yesterday
over a thing like that.

JEAN: A thing like what?

BERENGER: Yesterday ...

JEAN: When yesterday? Where yesterday?

BERENGER: Don’t you remember? It was about that wretched
rhinoceros.

JEAN: What rhinoceros?

BERENGER: The rhinoceros, or rather, the two wretched
rhinoceroses we saw.

JEAN: Oh yes, I remember ... How do you know they were
wretched?

BERENGER: Oh I just said that.
JEAN: Oh. Well let’s not talk any more about it.

BERENGER: That’s very nice of you.

JEAN: Then that’s that.

BERENGER: But I would like to say how sorry I am for being
so insistent ... and so obstinate ... and getting so angry ...
in fact ... I acted stupidly.

JEAN: That’s not surprising with you.

BERENGER: I’m very sorry.

JEAN: I don’t feel very well. [He coughs.]

BERENGER: That’s probably why you’re in bed. [With a
change of tone:] You know, Jean, as it turned out, we were
both right.

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JEAN: What about?

BERENGER: About ... well, you know, the same thing. Sorry to
bring it up again, but I’ll only mention it briefly. I just
wanted you to know that in our different ways we were both
right. It’s been proved now. There are some rhinoceroses

in the town with two horns and some with one.

Fugard, Athol. “Master Harold”…and the boys. New York:
Penguin, 1982. (1982)
From “Master Harold”…and the boys

Sam: Of course it is. That’s what I’ve been trying to say to you
all afternoon. And it’s beautiful because that is what
we want life to be like. But instead, like you said, Hally, we’re
bumping into each other all the time. Look at the three
of us this afternoon: I’ve bumped into Willie, the two of us have
bumped into you, you’ve bumped into your mother,
she bumping into your Dad. . . . None of us knows the steps and
there’s no music playing. And it doesn’t stop with us.
The whole world is doing it all the time. Open a newspaper and
what do you read? America has bumped into Russia,
England is bumping into India, rich man bumps into poor man.
Those are big collisions, Hally. They make for a lot of
bruises. People get hurt in all that bumping, and we’re sick and
tired of it now. It’s been going on for too long. Are we
never going to get it right? . . . Learn to dance life like
champions instead of always being just a bunch of beginners at
it?

Hally: (Deep and sincere admiration of the man) You’ve got a
vision, Sam!

Sam: Not just me. What I’m saying to you is that everybody’s
got it. That’s why there’s only standing room left for the
Centenary Hall in two weeks’ time. For as long as the music
lasts, we are going to see six couples get it right, the way
we want life to be.

Hally: But is that the best we can do, Sam . . . watch six
finalists dreaming about the way it should be?

Sam: I don’t know. But it starts with that. Without the dream we
won’t know what we’re going for. And anyway I
reckon there are a few people who have got past just dreaming
about it and are trying for something real. Remember
that thing we read once in the paper about the Mahatma Gandhi?
Going without food to stop those riots in India?

Poetry

Shakespeare, William. “Sonnet 73.” Shakespeare: The Poems.
Edited by David Bevington. New York: Bantam, 1988.
(1609)

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Donne, John. “Song.” The Complete Poetry of John Donne.
Edited by John T. Shawcross. New York: Anchor Books,
1967. (1635)

Goe, and catche a falling starre,
Get with child a mandrake roote,
Tell me, where all past yeares are,
Or who cleft the Divels foot,

Teach me to heare Mermaides singing,

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Or to keep off envies stinging,
And finde
What winde
Serves to advance an honest minde.

If thou beest borne to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand daies and nights,
Till age snow white haires on thee,
Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell mee
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And sweare
No where
Lives a woman true, and faire.

If thou findst one, let mee know,
Such a Pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet doe not, I would not goe,
Though at next doore wee might meet,
Though shee were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet shee
Will bee
False, ere I come, to two, or three.

Shelley, Percy Bysshe. “Ozymandias.” The Complete Poems of
Percy Bysshe Shelley. New York: Modern Library,
1994. (1817)

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said—”Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert ... Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

Poe, Edgar Allan. “The Raven.” Complete Stories and Poems of
Edgar Allan Poe. New York: Doubleday, 1984. (1845)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and
weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore —
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“‘T is some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door
—
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the
floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore
—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore
—
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“‘T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
This it is and nothing more.”

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Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the
door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream
before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
“Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
“Lenore!”
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
he;

But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door
—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure
no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly
shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian
shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so
plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door
—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered
—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown
before —
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown
before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore
—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore.’”

But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust
and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of
yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,

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But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen
censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!’’
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here
ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore —
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I
implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore
—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked,
upstarting —
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian

shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath
spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is
dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Dickinson, Emily. “We Grow Accustomed to the Dark.” The
Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. Boston: Little,
Brown, 1960. (1890)

We grow accustomed to the Dark,
When Light is put away,
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye.

A Moment—We uncertain step
For newness of the night,
Then fit our Vision to the Dark,
And meet the Road erect.

And so of larger Darknesses,
Those Evenings of the Brain,
When not a Moon disclose a sign,
Or Star, come out, within.

The Bravest grope a little
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead,
But as they learn to see,

Either the Darkness alters
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight,
And Life steps almost straight.

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Houseman, A. E. “Loveliest of Trees.” A Shropshire Lad. New
York: Penguin, 1999. (1896)

Loveliest of Trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,

And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

Johnson, James Weldon. “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” Lift
Every Voice and Sing. New York: Penguin, 1993. (1900)

Lift every voice and sing,
Till earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty,
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the list’ning skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
Let us march on till victory is won.

Stony the road we trod
Bitter the chast’ning rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered
We have come, treading our path thro’ the blood of the
slaughtered,

Out from the gloomy past, till now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.

God of our weary years,
God of our silent tears,
Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way;
Thou who hast by Thy might,
Led us into the light, Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we meet
Thee,
Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world we forget
Thee;
Shadowed beneath Thy hand, may we forever stand,
True to our God, true to our native land.

Cullen, Countee. “Yet Do I Marvel.” The Norton Anthology of
African American Literature. Edited by Henry Louis
Gates, Jr., and Nellie Y. McKay. New York: Norton, 1997.
(1925)

Auden, Wystan Hugh. ”Musée des Beaux Arts.” The Collected
Poetry of W. H. Auden. New York: Random House,
1945. (1938)

Walker, Alice. “Women.” Revolutionary Petunias and Other
Poems. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1973. (1970)

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Baca, Jimmy Santiago. “I Am Offering This Poem to You.”
Immigrants in Our Own Land and Selected Early Poems.
New York: New Directions, 1977. (1977)

I am offering this poem to you,
since I have nothing else to give.
Keep it like a warm coat
when winter comes to cover you,
or like a pair of thick socks
the cold cannot bite through,

I love you,

I have nothing else to give you,
so it is a pot full of yellow corn
to warm your belly in winter,
it is a scarf for your head, to wear
over your hair, to tie up around your face,

I love you,

Keep it, treasure this as you would
if you were lost, needing direction,
in the wilderness life becomes when mature;

and in the corner of your drawer,
tucked away like a cabin or hogan
in dense trees, come knocking,
and I will answer, give you directions,
and let you warm yourself by this fire,
rest by this fire, and make you feel safe

I love you,

It’s all I have to give,
and all anyone needs to live,
and to go on living inside,
when the world outside
no longer cares if you live or die;
remember,

I love you

By Jimmy Santiago Baca, from IMMIGRANTS IN OUR OWN
LAND, copyright © 1979 by Jimmy Santiago Baca. Reprint-
ed by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp.

Sample Performance Tasks for Stories, Drama, and Poetry

• Students analyze how the character of Odysseus from
Homer’s Odyssey—a “man of twists and turns”—reflects
conflicting motivations through his interactions with other
characters in the epic poem. They articulate how his
conflicting loyalties during his long and complicated journey
home from the Trojan War both advance the plot
of Homer’s epic and develop themes. [RL.9–10.3]

• Students analyze how Michael Shaara in his Civil War
novel The Killer Angels creates a sense of tension and
even surprise regarding the outcome of events at the Battle of
Gettysburg through pacing, ordering of events,

and the overarching structure of the novel. [RL.9–10.5]

• Students analyze in detail the theme of relationships
between mothers and daughters and how that theme de-
velops over the course of Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club.
Students search the text for specific details that show
how the theme emerges and how it is shaped and refined over
the course of the novel. [RL.9–10.2]

• Students analyze how the Japanese filmmaker Akira
Kurosawa in his film Throne of Blood draws on and trans-

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forms Shakespeare’s play Macbeth in order to develop a similar
plot set in feudal Japan. [RL.9–10.9]

• Students analyze how artistic representations of Ramses II
(the pharaoh who reigned during the time of Mo-
ses) vary, basing their analysis on what is emphasized or absent
in different treatments of the pharaoh in works
of art (e.g., images in the British Museum) and in Percy Bysshe
Shelley’s poem “Ozymandias.” [RL.9–10.7]

Informational Texts: English Language Arts

Henry, Patrick. “Speech to the Second Virginia Convention.”
(1775)

MR. PRESIDENT: No man thinks more highly than I do of the
patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy
gentlemen who have just addressed the House. But different
men often see the same subject in different lights; and,
therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those
gentlemen if, entertaining as I do, opinions of a character
very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely,
and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The
question before the House is one of awful moment to this
country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than
a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the
magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the
debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth,
and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to
God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a
time, through fear of giving offence, I should consider
myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of
disloyalty toward the majesty of heaven, which I
revere above all earthly kings.

Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of
hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful
truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us
into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a

great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of
the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and,
having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their
temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of
spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know
the worst, and to provide for it.

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the
lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of
the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to
know what there has been in the conduct of the British
ministry for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which
gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves,
and the House? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition
has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove
a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a
kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of
our petition comports with these war-like preparations which
cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and
armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we
shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that
force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive
ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and
subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask,
gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its pur-
pose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign
any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any
enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this
accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They
are meant for us; they can be meant for no other. They are sent
over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which
the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have
we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we
have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything
new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held
the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has

been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble
supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been
already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive
ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done, to
avert the storm which is now coming on. We have
petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have
prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have im-
plored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the
ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted;
our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult;
our supplications have been disregarded; and we
have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne.
In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond
hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room
for hope. If we wish to be free, if we mean to preserve
inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been
so long contending, if we mean not basely to abandon
the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and
which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon
until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we
must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to
arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left us!

They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so
formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger?
Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we
are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be
stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by
irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of ef-
fectual resistance, by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging
the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall
have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a
proper use of those means which the God of nature
hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the
holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that
which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy

can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our

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battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the
destinies of nations; and who will raise up friends to fight our
battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to
the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have
no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too
late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in
submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking
may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevi-
table and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry,
Peace, Peace but there is no peace. The war is actually
begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to

our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are
already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that
gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear,
or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and
slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what
course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give
me death!

Washington, George. “Farewell Address.” (1796)

Against the insidious wiles of foreign influence (I conjure you
to believe me, fellow-citizens) the jealousy of a free
people ought to be constantly awake, since history and
experience prove that foreign influence is one of the most
baneful foes of republican government. But that jealousy to be
useful must be impartial; else it becomes the instru-
ment of the very influence to be avoided, instead of a defense
against it. Excessive partiality for one foreign nation
and excessive dislike of another cause those whom they actuate
to see danger only on one side, and serve to veil and
even second the arts of influence on the other. Real patriots who
may resist the intrigues of the favorite are liable to
become suspected and odious, while its tools and dupes usurp
the applause and confidence of the people, to sur-
render their interests.

The great rule of conduct for us in regard to foreign nations is
in extending our commercial relations, to have with
them as little political connection as possible. So far as we have
already formed engagements, let them be fulfilled
with perfect good faith. Here let us stop. Europe has a set of
primary interests which to us have none; or a very
remote relation. Hence she must be engaged in frequent
controversies, the causes of which are essentially foreign to
our concerns. Hence, therefore, it must be unwise in us to
implicate ourselves by artificial ties in the ordinary vicissi-

tudes of her politics, or the ordinary combinations and
collisions of her friendships or enmities.

Our detached and distant situation invites and enables us to
pursue a different course. If we remain one people under
an efficient government. the period is not far off when we may
defy material injury from external annoyance; when we
may take such an attitude as will cause the neutrality we may at
any time resolve upon to be scrupulously respected;
when belligerent nations, under the impossibility of making
acquisitions upon us, will not lightly hazard the giving us
provocation; when we may choose peace or war, as our interest,
guided by justice, shall counsel.

Why forego the advantages of so peculiar a situation? Why quit
our own to stand upon foreign ground? Why, by
interweaving our destiny with that of any part of Europe,
entangle our peace and prosperity in the toils of European
ambition, rivalship, interest, humor or caprice?

It is our true policy to steer clear of permanent alliances with
any portion of the foreign world; so far, I mean, as we
are now at liberty to do it; for let me not be understood as
capable of patronizing infidelity to existing engagements.
I hold the maxim no less applicable to public than to private
affairs, that honesty is always the best policy. I repeat it,
therefore, let those engagements be observed in their genuine
sense. But, in my opinion, it is unnecessary and would
be unwise to extend them.

Lincoln, Abraham. “Gettysburg Address.” (1863)

Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth upon
this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and
dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that
nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated,
can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war.
We are met to dedicate a portion of it as the final
resting-place of those who here gave their lives that that nation
might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we
should do this.

But in a large sense we cannot dedicate,—we cannot
consecrate,—we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men,
living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far
above our power to add or detract. The world will little
note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never
forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather
to be dedicated here to the unfinished work that they have thus
far so nobly carried on. It is, rather for us to be here
dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from these
honored dead we take increased devotion to that
cause for which they here gave the last full measure of
devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not
have died in vain; that this nation, under God, shall have a new
birth of freedom, and that Government of the people,
by the people and for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

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Lincoln, Abraham. “Second Inaugural Address.” (1865)

Fellow-Countrymen:

At this second appearing to take the oath of the Presidential
office there is less occasion for an extended address
than there was at the first. Then a statement somewhat in detail
of a course to be pursued seemed fitting and proper.
Now, at the expiration of four years, during which public
declarations have been constantly called forth on every point
and phase of the great contest which still absorbs the attention
and engrosses the energies of the nation, little that is
new could be presented. The progress of our arms, upon which
all else chiefly depends, is as well known to the public
as to myself, and it is, I trust, reasonably satisfactory and
encouraging to all. With high hope for the future, no predic-
tion in regard to it is ventured.

On the occasion corresponding to this four years ago all
thoughts were anxiously directed to an impending civil war.
All dreaded it, all sought to avert it. While the inaugural
address was being delivered from this place, devoted alto-
gether to saving the Union without war, urgent agents were in
the city seeking to destroy it without war—seeking to
dissolve the Union and divide effects by negotiation. Both
parties deprecated war, but one of them would make war
rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept

war rather than let it perish, and the war came.

One-eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not
distributed generally over the Union, but localized in the
southern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and
powerful interest. All knew that this interest was some-
how the cause of the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend
this interest was the object for which the insurgents
would rend the Union even by war, while the Government
claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial
enlargement of it. Neither party expected for the war the
magnitude or the duration which it has already attained.
Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease
with or even before the conflict itself should cease.
Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental
and astounding. Both read the same Bible and pray
to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It
may seem strange that any men should dare to ask
a just God’s assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat
of other men’s faces, but let us judge not, that we be
not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. That of
neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has
His own purposes. “Woe unto the world because of offenses; for
it must needs be that offenses come, but woe to
that man by whom the offense cometh.” If we shall suppose that
American slavery is one of those offenses which, in
the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having
continued through His appointed time, He now wills to
remove, and that He gives to both North and South this terrible
war as the woe due to those by whom the offense
came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine
attributes which the believers in a living God always
ascribe to Him? Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that
this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away.
Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by
the bondsman’s two hundred and fifty years of unrequited

toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the
lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as
was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said “the
judgments of the Lord are true and righteous alto-
gether.”

With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in
the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive
on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds,
to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for
his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and
cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with
all nations.

Roosevelt, Franklin Delano. “State of the Union Address.”
(1941)

For there is nothing mysterious about the foundations of a
healthy and strong democracy. The basic things expected
by our people of their political and economic systems are
simple. They are:

Equality of opportunity for youth and for others.

Jobs for those who can work.

Security for those who need it.

The ending of special privilege for the few.

The preservation of civil liberties for all.

The enjoyment of the fruits of scientific progress in a wider and
constantly rising standard of living.

These are the simple, basic things that must never be lost sight

of in the turmoil and unbelievable complexity of our
modern world. The inner and abiding strength of our economic
and political systems is dependent upon the degree
to which they fulfill these expectations.

Many subjects connected with our social economy call for
immediate improvement. As examples:

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We should bring more citizens under the coverage of old-age
pensions and unemployment insurance.

We should widen the opportunities for adequate medical care.

We should plan a better system by which persons deserving or
needing gainful employment may obtain it.

I have called for personal sacrifice. I am assured of the
willingness of almost all Americans to respond to that call.

A part of the sacrifice means the payment of more money in
taxes. In my Budget Message I shall recommend that a
greater portion of this great defense program be paid for from
taxation than we are paying today. No person should
try, or be allowed, to get rich out of this program; and the
principle of tax payments in accordance with ability to pay
should be constantly before our eyes to guide our legislation.

If the Congress maintains these principles, the voters, putting
patriotism ahead of pocketbooks, will give you their
applause.

In the future days, which we seek to make secure, we look
forward to a world founded upon four essential human
freedoms.

The first is freedom of speech and expression—everywhere in
the world.

The second is freedom of every person to worship God in his
own way—everywhere in the world.

The third is freedom from want—which, translated into world
terms, means economic understandings which will se-
cure to every nation a healthy peacetime life for its inhabitants-
everywhere in the world.

The fourth is freedom from fear—which, translated into world
terms, means a world-wide reduction of armaments to
such a point and in such a thorough fashion that no nation will
be in a position to commit an act of physical aggres-
sion against any neighbor—anywhere in the world.

Hand, Learned. “I Am an American Day Address.” (1944)

We have gathered here to affirm a faith, a faith in a common
purpose, a common conviction, a common devotion.
Some of us have chosen America as the land of our adoption;
the rest have come from those who did the same. For
this reason we have some right to consider ourselves a picked
group, a group of those who had the courage to break
from the past and brave the dangers and the loneliness of a
strange land. What was the object that nerved us, or
those who went before us, to this choice? We sought liberty;
freedom from oppression, freedom from want, freedom
to be ourselves. This we then sought; this we now believe that
we are by way of winning. What do we mean when
we say that first of all we seek liberty? I often wonder whether
we do not rest our hopes too much upon constitu-
tions, upon laws and upon courts. These are false hopes; believe
me, these are false hopes. Liberty lies in the hearts of
men and women; when it dies there, no constitution, no law, no
court can even do much to help it. While it lies there
it needs no constitution, no law, no court to save it. And what is
this liberty which must lie in the hearts of men and
women? It is not the ruthless, the unbridled will; it is not
freedom to do as one likes. That is the denial of liberty, and
leads straight to its overthrow. A society in which men
recognize no check upon their freedom soon becomes a soci-
ety where freedom is the possession of only a savage few; as we
have learned to our sorrow.

What then is the spirit of liberty? I cannot define it; I can only
tell you my own faith. The spirit of liberty is the spirit
which is not too sure that it is right; the spirit of liberty is the
spirit which seeks to understand the mind of other men
and women; the spirit of liberty is the spirit which weighs their
interests alongside its own without bias; the spirit of

liberty remembers that not even a sparrow falls to earth
unheeded; the spirit of liberty is the spirit of Him who, near
two thousand years ago, taught mankind that lesson it has never
learned but never quite forgotten; that there may be
a kingdom where the least shall be heard and considered side by
side with the greatest. And now in that spirit, that
spirit of an America which has never been, and which may
never be; nay, which never will be except as the conscience
and courage of Americans create it; yet in the spirit of that
America which lies hidden in some form in the aspirations
of us all; in the spirit of that America for which our young men
are at this moment fighting and dying; in that spirit of
liberty and of America I ask you to rise and with me pledge our
faith in the glorious destiny of our beloved country.

Smith, Margaret Chase. “Remarks to the Senate in Support of a
Declaration of Conscience.” (1950)

Mr. President:

I would like to speak briefly and simply about a serious national
condition. It is a national feeling of fear and frustra-
tion that could result in national suicide and the end of
everything that we Americans hold dear. It is a condition that
comes from the lack of effective leadership in either the
Legislative Branch or the Executive Branch of our Govern-
ment.

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That leadership is so lacking that serious and responsible
proposals are being made that national advisory commis-
sions be appointed to provide such critically needed leadership.

I speak as briefly as possible because too much harm has
already been done with irresponsible words of bitterness
and selfish political opportunism. I speak as briefly as possible
because the issue is too great to be obscured by elo-
quence. I speak simply and briefly in the hope that my words
will be taken to heart.

I speak as a Republican. I speak as a woman. I speak as a
United States Senator. I speak as an American.

The United States Senate has long enjoyed worldwide respect as
the greatest deliberative body in the world. But
recently that deliberative character has too often been debased
to the level of a forum of hate and character assas-
sination sheltered by the shield of congressional immunity.

It is ironical that we Senators can in debate in the Senate
directly or indirectly, by any form of words, impute to any
American who is not a Senator any conduct or motive unworthy

or unbecoming an American—and without that
non-Senator American having any legal redress against us—yet
if we say the same thing in the Senate about our col-
leagues we can be stopped on the grounds of being out of order.

It is strange that we can verbally attack anyone else without
restraint and with full protection and yet we hold our-
selves above the same type of criticism here on the Senate
Floor. Surely the United States Senate is big enough to
take self-criticism and self-appraisal. Surely we should be able
to take the same kind of character attacks that we
“dish out” to outsiders.

I think that it is high time for the United States Senate and its
members to do some soul-searching—for us to weigh
our consciences—on the manner in which we are performing our
duty to the people of America—on the manner in
which we are using or abusing our individual powers and
privileges.

I think that it is high time that we remembered that we have
sworn to uphold and defend the Constitution. I think that
it is high time that we remembered that the Constitution, as
amended, speaks not only of the freedom of speech but
also of trial by jury instead of trial by accusation.

Whether it be a criminal prosecution in court or a character
prosecution in the Senate, there is little practical distinc-
tion when the life of a person has been ruined.

Those of us who shout the loudest about Americanism in
making character assassinations are all too frequently those
who, by our own words and acts, ignore some of the basic
principles of Americanism:

The right to criticize;

The right to hold unpopular beliefs;

The right to protest;

The right of independent thought.

The exercise of these rights should not cost one single
American citizen his reputation or his right to a livelihood nor
should he be in danger of losing his reputation or livelihood
merely because he happens to know someone who holds
unpopular beliefs. Who of us doesn’t? Otherwise none of us
could call our souls our own. Otherwise thought control
would have set in.

The American people are sick and tired of being afraid to speak
their minds lest they be politically smeared as “Com-
munists” or “Fascists” by their opponents. Freedom of speech is
not what it used to be in America. It has been so
abused by some that it is not exercised by others.

The American people are sick and tired of seeing innocent
people smeared and guilty people whitewashed. But there
have been enough proved cases, such as the Amerasia case, the
Hiss case, the Coplon case, the Gold case, to cause
the nationwide distrust and strong suspicion that there may be
something to the unproved, sensational accusations.

I doubt if the Republican Party could—simply because I don’t
believe the American people will uphold any political
party that puts political exploitation above national interest.
Surely we Republicans aren’t that desperate for victory.

I don’t want to see the Republican Party win that way. While it
might be a fleeting victory for the Republican Party, it
would be a more lasting defeat for the American people. Surely

it would ultimately be suicide for the Republican Par-
ty and the two-party system that has protected our American
liberties from the dictatorship of a one party system.

As members of the Minority Party, we do not have the primary
authority to formulate the policy of our Government.
But we do have the responsibility of rendering constructive
criticism, of clarifying issues, of allaying fears by acting as

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responsible citizens.

As a woman, I wonder how the mothers, wives, sisters, and
daughters feel about the way in which members of their
families have been politically mangled in the Senate debate—
and I use the word “debate” advisedly.

As a United States Senator, I am not proud of the way in which
the Senate has been made a publicity platform for ir-
responsible sensationalism. I am not proud of the reckless
abandon in which unproved charges have been hurled from
the side of the aisle. I am not proud of the obviously staged,
undignified countercharges that have been attempted in
retaliation from the other side of the aisle.

I don’t like the way the Senate has been made a rendezvous for
vilification, for selfish political gain at the sacrifice of
individual reputations and national unity. I am not proud of the
way we smear outsiders from the Floor of the Senate
and hide behind the cloak of congressional immunity and still
place ourselves beyond criticism on the Floor of the
Senate.

As an American, I am shocked at the way Republicans and
Democrats alike are playing directly into the Communist
design of “confuse, divide, and conquer.” As an American, I
don’t want a Democratic Administration “whitewash” or
“cover-up” any more than a want a Republican smear or witch
hunt.

As an American, I condemn a Republican “Fascist” just as much
I condemn a Democratic “Communist.” I condemn a
Democrat “Fascist” just as much as I condemn a Republican
“Communist.” They are equally dangerous to you and me
and to our country. As an American, I want to see our nation
recapture the strength and unity it once had when we
fought the enemy instead of ourselves.

It is with these thoughts that I have drafted what I call a
“Declaration of Conscience.” I am gratified that Senator
Tobey, Senator Aiken, Senator Morse, Senator Ives, Senator
Thye, and Senator Hendrickson have concurred in that

declaration and have authorized me to announce their
concurrence.

King, Jr., Martin Luther. “Letter from Birmingham Jail.” Why
We Can’t Wait. New York: Signet Classics, 2000. (1963)

My Dear Fellow Clergymen:

While confined here in the Birmingham city jail, I came across
your recent statement calling my present activities
“unwise and untimely.” Seldom do I pause to answer criticism
of my work and ideas. If I sought to answer all the criti-
cisms that cross my desk, my secretaries would have little time
for anything other than such correspondence in the
course of the day, and I would have no time for constructive
work. But since I feel that you are men of genuine good
will and that your criticisms are sincerely set forth, I want to try
to answer your statements in what I hope will be
patient and reasonable terms.

I think I should indicate why I am here In Birmingham, since
you have been influenced by the view which argues
against “outsiders coming in.” I have the honor of serving as
president of the Southern Christian Leadership Confer-
ence, an organization operating in every southern state, with
headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia. We have some eighty-
five affiliated organizations across the South, and one of them
is the Alabama Christian Movement for Human Rights.
Frequently we share staff, educational and financial resources
with our affiliates. Several months ago the affiliate here
in Birmingham asked us to be on call to engage in a nonviolent
direct-action program if such were deemed necessary.
We readily consented, and when the hour came we lived up to
our promise. So I, along with several members of my
staff, am here because I was invited here I am here because I
have organizational ties here.

But more basically, I am in Birmingham because injustice is
here. Just as the prophets of the eighth century B.C. left
their villages and carried their “thus saith the Lord” far beyond
the boundaries of their home towns, and just as the
Apostle Paul left his village of Tarsus and carried the gospel of
Jesus Christ to the far corners of the Greco-Roman
world, so am I. compelled to carry the gospel of freedom
beyond my own home town. Like Paul, I must constantly
respond to the Macedonian call for aid.

Moreover, I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all
communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not
be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice
anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught
in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment
of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all in-
directly. Never again can we afford to live with the narrow,
provincial “outside agitator” idea. Anyone who lives inside
the United States can never be considered an outsider anywhere
within its bounds.

License granted by Intellectual Properties Management, Atlanta,
Georgia, as exclusive licensor of the King Estate.

King, Jr., Martin Luther. “I Have a Dream: Address Delivered at
the March on Washington, D.C., for Civil Rights on
August 28, 1963.” (1963)

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Angelou, Maya. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. New York:
Random House, 1970. (1969)
From Chapter 14

She said she was going to give me some books and that I not
only must read them, I must read them aloud. She sug-
gested that I try to make a sentence sound in as many different
ways as possible.

“I’ll accept no excuse if you return a book to me that has been
badly handled.” My imagination boggled at the punish-
ment I would deserve if in fact I did abuse a book of Mrs.
Flowers’. Death would be too kind and brief.

The odors in the house surprised me. Somehow I had never
connected Mrs. Flowers with food or eating or any other
common experience of common people. There must have been
an outhouse, too, but my mind never recorded it.

The sweet scent of vanilla had met us as she opened the door.

“I made tea cookies this morning. You see, I had planned to

invite you for cookies and lemonade so we could have this
little chat. The lemonade is in the icebox.”

It followed that Mrs. Flowers would have ice on an ordinary
day, when most families in our town bought ice late on
Saturdays only a few times during the summer to be used in the
wooden ice-cream freezers.

She took the bags from me and disappeared through the kitchen
door. I looked around the room that I had never in
my wildest fantasies imagined I would see. Browned
photographs leered or threatened from the walls and the white,
freshly done curtains pushed against themselves and against the
wind. I wanted to gobble up the room entire and
take it to Bailey, who would help me analyze and enjoy it.

Wiesel, Elie. “Hope, Despair and Memory.” Nobel Lectures in
Peace 1981–1990. Singapore: World Scientific, 1997.
(1986)

It is with a profound sense of humility that I accept the honor -
the highest there is - that you have chosen to bestow
upon me. I know your choice transcends my person.

Do I have the right to represent the multitudes who have
perished? Do I have the right to accept this great honor on
their behalf? I do not. No one may speak for the dead, no one
may interpret their mutilated dreams and visions. And
yet, I sense their presence. I always do - and at this moment
more than ever. The presence of my parents, that of my
little sister. The presence of my teachers, my friends, my
companions...

This honor belongs to all the survivors and their children and,
through us to the Jewish people with whose destiny I
have always identified.

I remember: it happened yesterday, or eternities ago. A young
Jewish boy discovered the Kingdom of Night. I remem-
ber his bewilderment, I remember his anguish. It all happened
so fast. The ghetto. The deportation. The sealed cattle
car. The fiery altar upon which the history of our people and the
future of mankind were meant to be sacrificed.

I remember he asked his father: “Can this be true? This is the
twentieth century, not the Middle Ages. Who would al-
low such crimes to be committed? How could the world remain
silent?”

And now the boy is turning to me. “Tell me,” he asks, “what
have you done with my future, what have you done with
your life?” And I tell him that I have tried. That I have tried to
keep memory alive, that I have tried to fight those who
would forget. Because if we forget, we are guilty, we are
accomplices.

And then I explain to him how naïve we were, that the world did
know and remained silent. And that is why I swore
never to be silent whenever wherever human beings endure
suffering and humiliation. We must take sides. Neutrality
helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the
tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must
interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human
dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities
become irrelevant. Wherever men and women are persecuted
because of their race, religion, or political views, that
place must— at that moment—become the center of the
universe.

Reagan, Ronald. “Address to Students at Moscow State
University.” The American Reader: Words that Moved a
Nation, 2nd Edition. Edited by Diane Ravitch. New York:

HarperCollins, 2000. (1988)
From “Ronald Reagan: Speech at Moscow State University”

But progress is not foreordained. The key is freedom—freedom
of thought, freedom of information, freedom of com-
munication. The renowned scientist, scholar, and founding
father of this university, Mikhail Lomonosov, knew that. “It
is common knowledge,” he said, “that the achievements of
science are considerable and rapid, particularly once the
yoke of slavery is cast off and replaced by the freedom of
philosophy.” […]

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The explorers of the modern era are the entrepreneurs, men with
vision, with the courage to take risks and faith
enough to brave the unknown. These entrepreneurs and their

small enterprises are responsible for almost all the
economic growth in the United States. They are the prime
movers of the technological revolution. In fact, one of the
largest personal computer firms in the United States was started
by two college students, no older than you, in the
garage behind their home. Some people, even in my own
country, look at the riot of experiment that is the free mar-
ket and see only waste. What of all the entrepreneurs that fail?
Well, many do, particularly the successful ones; often
several times. And if you ask them the secret of their success,
they’ll tell you it’s all that they learned in their struggles
along the way; yes, it’s what they learned from failing. Like an
athlete in competition or a scholar in pursuit of the
truth, experience is the greatest teacher. […]

We Americans make no secret of our belief in freedom. In fact,
it’s something of a national pastime. Every 4 years the
American people choose a new President, and 1988 is one of
those years. At one point there were 13 major candidates
running in the two major parties, not to mention all the others,
including the Socialist and Libertarian candidates—all
trying to get my job.

About 1,000 local television stations, 8,500 radio stations, and
1,700 daily newspapers—each one an independent, pri-
vate enterprise, fiercely independent of the Government—report
on the candidates, grill them in interviews, and bring
them together for debates. In the end, the people vote; they
decide who will be the next President.

But freedom doesn’t begin or end with elections. Go to any
American town, to take just an example, and you’ll see
dozens of churches, representing many different beliefs—in
many places, synagogues and mosques—and you’ll see
families of every conceivable nationality worshiping together.
Go into any schoolroom, and there you will see chil-

dren being taught the Declaration of Independence, that they are
endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable
rights—among them life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness—
that no government can justly deny; the guarantees in
their Constitution for freedom of speech, freedom of assembly,
and freedom of religion.

Go into any courtroom, and there will preside an independent
judge, beholden to no government power. There every
defendant has the right to a trial by a jury of his peers, usually
12 men and women—common citizens; they are the
ones, the only ones, who weigh the evidence and decide on guilt
or innocence. In that court, the accused is innocent
until proven guilty, and the word of a policeman or any official
has no greater legal standing than the word of the ac-
cused.

Go to any university campus, and there you’ll find an open,
sometimes heated discussion of the problems in American
society and what can be done to correct them. Turn on the
television, and you’ll see the legislature conducting the
business of government right there before the camera, debating
and voting on the legislation that will become the
law of the land. March in any demonstration, and there are
many of them; the people’s right of assembly is guaran-
teed in the Constitution and protected by the police. Go into any
union hall, where the members know their right to
strike is protected by law.

But freedom is more even than this. Freedom is the right to
question and change the established way of doing things.
It is the continuing revolution of the marketplace. It is the
understanding that allows us to recognize shortcomings
and seek solutions. It is the right to put forth an idea, scoffed at
by the experts, and watch it catch fire among the
people. It is the right to dream—to follow your dream or stick

to your conscience, even if you’re the only one in a sea
of doubters. Freedom is the recognition that no single person,
no single authority or government has a monopoly on
the truth, but that every individual life is infinitely precious,
that every one of us put on this world has been put there
for a reason and has something to offer.

Quindlen, Anna. “A Quilt of a Country.” Newsweek September
27, 2001. (2001)

America is an improbable idea. A mongrel nation built of ever-
changing disparate parts, it is held together by a no-
tion, the notion that all men are created equal, though everyone
knows that most men consider themselves better
than someone. “Of all the nations in the world, the United
States was built in nobody’s image,” the historian Daniel
Boorstin wrote. That’s because it was built of bits and pieces
that seem discordant, like the crazy quilts that have
been one of its great folk-art forms, velvet and calico and
checks and brocades. Out of many, one. That is the ideal.

Sample Performance Tasks for Informational Texts: English
Language Arts

• Students compare George Washington’s Farewell Address
to other foreign policy statements, such as the
Monroe Doctrine, and analyze how both texts address similar
themes and concepts regarding “entangling alli-
ances.” [RI.9–10.9]

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• Students analyze how Abraham Lincoln in his “Second
Inaugural Address” unfolds his examination of the ideas
that led to the Civil War, paying particular attention to the order
in which the points are made, how Lincoln
introduces and develops his points, and the connections that are
drawn between them. [RI.9–10.3]

• Students evaluate the argument and specific claims about
the “spirit of liberty” in Learned Hand’s “I Am an
American Day Address,” assessing the relevance and
sufficiency of the evidence and the validity of his reason-
ing. [RI.9–10.8]

• Students determine the purpose and point of view in
Martin Luther King, Jr.’s, “I Have a Dream” speech and
analyze how King uses rhetoric to advance his position. [RI.9–
10.6]

Informational Texts: History/Social Studies

Brown, Dee. Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee: An Indian

History of the American West. New York: Holt Rinehart
Winston, 1970. (1970)
From Chapter 1: “Their Manners Are Decorous and
Praiseworthy”

The decade following establishment of the “permanent Indian
frontier” was a bad time for the eastern tribes. The
great Cherokee nation had survived more than a hundred years
of the white man’s wars, diseases, and whiskey, but
now it was to be blotted out. Because the Cherokees numbered
several thousands, their removal to the West was
planned to be in gradual stages, but the discovery of
Appalachian gold within their territory brought on a clamor for
their immediate wholesale exodus. During the autumn of 1838,
General Winfield Scott’s soldiers rounded them up and
concentrated them into camps. (A few hundred escaped to the
Smoky Mountains and many years later where given
a small reservation in North Carolina.) From the prison camps
they were started westward to Indian Territory. On the
long winter trek, one of every four Cherokees died from the
cold, hunger, or disease. They called the march their “trail
of tears.” The Choctaws, Chickasaws, Creeks, and Seminoles
also gave up their homelands in the South. In the North,
surviving remnants of the Shawnees, Miamis, Ottawas, Hurons,
Delawares, and many other once mighty tribes walked
or traveled by horseback and wagon beyond the Mississippi,
carrying their shabby goods, their rusty farming tools,
and bags of seed corn. All of them arrived as refugees, poor
relations, in the country of the proud and free Plains
Indians.

Scarcely were the refugees settled behind the security of the
“permanent Indian frontier” when soldiers began march-
ing westward through Indian country. The white men of the
United States—who talked so much of peace but rarely
seemed to practice it—were marching to war with the white men

who had conquered the Indians of Mexico. When the
war with Mexico ended in 1847, the United States took
possession of a vast expanse of territory reaching from Texas
to California. All of it was west of the “permanent Indian
frontier.”

Connell, Evan S. Son of the Morning Star: Custer and the Little
Bighorn. New York: Harper Perennial, 1985. (1984)

Sitting Bull. Sitting Bull.

In English this name sounds a little absurd, and to whites of the
nineteenth century is was still more so; they alluded
to him as Slightly Recumbent Gentleman Cow.

Exact Translation from the Sioux is impossible, but his name
may be better understood if one realizes how plains
Indians respected and honored the bull buffalo. Whites
considered this animal to be exceptionally stupid. Col. Dodge
states without equivocation that the buffalo is the dullest
creature of which he has any knowledge. A herd of buffalo
would graze complacently while every member was shot down.
He himself shot two cows and thirteen calves while
the survivors grazed and watched. He and others in his party
had to shout and wave their hats to drive the herd away
so the dead animals could be butchered.

Indians, however, regarded buffalo as the wisest and most
powerful of creatures, nearest to the omnipresent Spirit.
Furthermore if one says in English that somebody is sitting it
means he is seated, balanced on the haunches; but the
Sioux expression has an additional sense, not equivalent to but
approximating the English words situate and locate
and reside.

Thus from an Indian point of view, the name Sitting Bull

signified a wise and powerful being who had taken up resi-
dence among them.

As a boy, he was called Slow, Hunkesni, because of his
deliberate manner, and it has been alleged that his parents

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thought him ordinary, perhaps even a bit slow in the head. Most
biographies state that he was known also as Jumping
Badger; but Stanley Vestal, after talking to many Indians who
knew his, said that none of them nor any member of Sit-
ting Bull’s family could remember his being called Jumping
Badger. In any event, Slow he was called, and Slow would
suffice until he distinguished himself.

Gombrich, E. H. The Story of Art, 16th Edition. London:

Phaidon, 1995. (1995)
From Chapter 27: “Experimental Art: The First Half of the
Twentieth Century”

In one of his letters to a young painter, Cézanne had advised
him to look at nature in terms of spheres, cones and
cylinders. He presumably meant that he should always keep
these basic solid shapes in mind when organizing his
pictures. But Picasso and his friends decided to take this advice
literally. I suppose that they reasoned somewhat like
this: ‘We have long given up claiming that we represent things
as they appear to our eyes. That was a will-o’-the-wisp
which it is useless to pursue. We do not want to fix on the
canvas the imaginary impression of a fleeting moment.
Let us follow Cézanne’s example, and build up the picture of
our motifs as solidly and enduringly as we can. Why not
be consistent and accept the fact that our real aim is rather to
construct something, rather than to copy something?
If we think of an object, let us say a violin, it does not appear
before the eye of our mind the way it would appear
before our bodily eyes. We can, and in fact do, think of its
various aspects at the same time. Some of them stand out
so clearly that we feel we can touch them and handle them;
others are somehow blurred. And this strange medley of
images represents more of the “real” violin than any single
snapshot or meticulous painting could ever contain.’ This,
I suppose, was the reasoning which led to such paintings as
Picasso’s still life of a violin, figure 374. In some respects,
it represents a return to what we have called Egyptian
principles, in which an object was drawn from the angle from
which its characteristic form came out most clearly.

[Figure 374]
Pablo Picasso, Violin and Grapes, 1912
Oil on canvas, 50.6 x 61 cm, 20 x 24 in;
The Museum of Modern Art, New York

Mrs. David M. Levy Bequest

Kurlansky, Mark. Cod: A Biography of the Fish That Changed
the World. New York: Walker, 1997. (1997)
From Chapter 1: “The Race to Codlandia”

A medieval fisherman is said to have hauled up a three-foot-
long cod, which was common enough at the time. And
the fact that the cod could talk was not especially surprising.
But what was astonishing was that it spoke an unknown
language. It spoke Basque.

This Basque folktale shows not only the Basque attachment to
their orphan language, indecipherable to the rest of
the world, but also their tie to the Atlantic cod, Gadus morhua,
a fish that has never been found in Basque or even
Spanish waters.

The Basques are enigmatic. They have lived in what is now the
northwest corner of Spain and a nick of the French
southwest for longer than history records, and not only is the
origin of their language unknown, but also the origin of
the people themselves remains a mystery also. According to one
theory, these rosy-cheeked, dark-haired, long-nosed
people where the original Iberians, driven by invaders to this
mountainous corner between the Pyrenees, the Canta-
brian Sierra, and the Bay of Biscay. Or they may be indigenous
to this area.

They graze sheep on impossibly steep, green slopes of
mountains that are thrilling in their rare, rugged beauty. They
sing their own songs and write their own literature in their own
language, Euskera. Possibly Europe’s oldest living
language, Euskera is one of only four European languages—
along with Estonian, Finnish, and Hungarian—not in the In-
do-European family. They also have their own sports, most

notably jai alai, and even their own hat, the Basque beret,
which is bigger than any other beret.

Haskins, Jim. Black, Blue and Gray: African Americans in the
Civil War. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1998. (1998)
From “Introduction: A ‘White Man’s War?’”

In 1775 the first shots were fired in the war between the thirteen
American colonies and Great Britain that ended in a
victory for the colonists and the founding of a new nation, the
United States of America. Only eighty-five years later,
in 1861, the first shots were fired in a different war—a war
between the states that became known as the Civil War. It
was a war fought between the Confederate States of America
and the states that remained in the Union—each side
representing a distinct economy, labor system, and philosophy
of government. The southern states that formed the
Confederacy had agricultural economies that depended on a
slave workforce and believed that any rights not granted
to the federal government by the United States Constitution
belonged to the states. The northern states were under-
going rapid industrialization, which depended on wage labor,
and while northerners disagreed among themselves
about slavery, most believed it represented a direct challenge to
their own rights and freedoms. Most also believed

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that a strong federal government, with the ability to legislate
behavior in areas not specifically set forth in the Con-
stitution, was key to the growth and strength of the American
republic. It was inevitable that these two very distinct
societies would clash. For the Confederates, nicknamed Rebels,
the Civil War was a new war of Independence. For
the Unionists, nicknamed Yankees, it was a war to preserve the
Union that had been so dearly won in the American
Revolution.

In the eyes of the four and an half million African Americans,
enslaved and free, it was a war about slavery; and they
wanted to be part of the fight. But many northern whites did not
want blacks to serve in the northern military. They
called it a “white man’s war” and said that slavery was not the
main point of the conflict. At first, northern generals
actually sent escaped slaves back to their southern masters.
Eventually, the Union did accept blacks into its army and
navy.

A total of 178,895 black men served in 120 infantry regiments,
twelve heavy artillery regiments, ten light artillery bat-
teries, and seven cavalry regiments. Black soldiers constituted
twelve percent of the North’s fighting forces, and they
suffered a disproportionate number of casualties.

Dash, Joan. The Longitude Prize. New York: Farrar, Straus and
Giroux, 2000. (2000)
From Chapter 1: “A Most Terrible Sea”

At six in the morning I was awaked by a great shock, and a
confused noise of the men on deck. I ran up, think-
ing some ship had run foul of us, for by my own reckoning, and
that of every other person in the ship, we were
at least thirty-five leagues distant from land; but, before I could
reach the quarter-deck, the ship gave a great
stroke upon the ground, and the sea broke over her. Just after
this I could perceive the land, rocky, rugged and
uneven, about two cables’ length from us…the masts soon went
overboard, carrying some men with them…
notwithstanding a most terrible sea, one of the [lifeboats] was
launched, and eight of the best men jumped
into her; but she had scarcely got to the ship’s stern when she
was hurled to the bottom, and every soul in her
perished. The rest of the boats were soon washed to pieces on
the deck. We then made a raft…and waited with
resignation for Providence to assist us.

—From an account of the wreck of HMS Litchfield off the coast
of North Africa, 1758

The Litchfield came to grief because no one aboard knew where
they were. As the narrator tells us, by his own reck-
oning and that of everyone else they were supposed to be thirty-
five leagues, about a hundred miles, from land. The
word “reckoning” was short for “dead reckoning”—the system
used by ships at sea to keep track of their position,
meaning their longitude and latitude. It was an intricate system,
a craft, and like every other craft involved the mas-
tery of certain tools, in this case such instruments as compass,
hourglass, and quadrant. It was an art as well.

Latitude, the north-south position, had always been the
navigator’s faithful guide. Even in ancient times, a Greek or
Roman sailor could tell how far north of the equator he was by
observing the North Star’s height above the horizon,
or the sun’s at noon. This could be done without instruments,
trusting in experience and the naked eye, although it is
believed that an ancestor of the quadrant called the astrolabe—
”star-measurer”—was known to the ancients, and used
by them to measure the angular height of the sun or a star above
the horizon.

Phoenicians, Greeks, and Romans tended to sail along the coasts
and were rarely out of sight of land. As later naviga-
tors left the safety of the Mediterranean to plunge into the vast
Atlantic—far from shore, and from the shorebirds that
led them to it—they still had the sun and the North Star. And
these enabled them to follow imagined parallel lines
of latitude that circle the globe. Following a line of latitude—
”sailing the parallel”—kept a ship on a steady east-west
course. Christopher Columbus, who sailed the parallel in 1492,
held his ships on such a safe course, west and west
again, straight on toward Asia. When they came across an island
off the coast of what would later be called America,
Columbus compelled his crew to sign an affidavit stating that
this island was no island but mainland Asia.

Thompson, Wendy. The Illustrated Book of Great Composers.
London: Anness, 2004. (2004)
From “Composition through the Ages”

Music as a Language Music as a language is the most
mysterious of all art forms. People who can easily come to
terms with a work of literature or a painting are still often
baffled by the process by which a piece of music – appear-
ing in material form as notation – must then be translated back

into sound through the medium of a third party – the
performer. Unlike a painting, a musical composition cannot be
owned (except by its creator); and although a score
may be published, like a book, it may remain incomprehensible
to the general public until it is performed. Although a
piece may be played thousands of times each repetition is
entirely individual, and interpretations by different players
may vary widely.

Origins of musical notation The earliest musical
compositions were circumscribed by the range of the human
voice.
People from all cultures have always sung, or used primitive
instruments to make sounds. Notation, or the writing
down of music, developed to enable performers to remember
what they had improvised, to preserve what they had

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created, and to facilitate interaction between more than one
performer. Musical notation, like language, has ancient
origins, dating back to the Middle East in the third millennium
BC. The ancient Greeks appear to have been the first to
try to represent variations of musical pitch through the medium
of the alphabet, and successive civilizations all over
the world attempted to formulate similar systems of
recognizable musical notation.

Neumatic notation The earliest surviving Western European
notational system was called “neumatic notation”—a
system of symbols which attempted to portray the rise and fall
of a melodic line. These date back to the 9th cen-
tury AD, and were associated with the performance of sacred
music particularly plainsong—in monastic institutions.
Several early manuscript sources contain sacred texts with
accompanying notation, although there was no standard
system. The first appearance of staff notation, in which pitch
was indicated by noteheads on or between lines with
a symbol called a clef at the beginning to fix the pitch of one
note, was in the 9th century French treatise Musica
enchiriadis. At the same time music for instruments
(particularly organ and lute) was beginning to be written down
in
diagrammatic form known as tablature, which indicated the
positions of the player’s fingers.

Mann, Charles C. Before Columbus: The Americas of 1491.
New York: Atheneum, 2009. (2009)
From Chapter 2

If you asked modern scientists to name the world’s greatest
achievements in genetic engineering, you might be sur-
prised by one of their low-tech answers: maize.

Scientists know that maize, called “corn” in the United States,
was created more than 6,000 years ago. Although
exactly how this well-know plant was invented is still a
mystery, they do know where it was invented—in the nar-
row “waist” of southern Mexico. This jumble of mountains,
beaches, wet tropical forests, and dry plains is the most
ecologically diverse part of Mesoamerica. Today it is the home
of more than a dozen different Indian groups, but the
human history of these hills and valleys stretches far into the
past.

From Hunting to Gathering to Farming

About 11,500 years ago a group of Paleoindians was living in
caves in what is now the Mexican state of Puebla. These
people were hunters, but they did not bring down mastodons and
mammoths. Those huge species were already
extinct. Now and then they even feasted on giant turtles (which
were probably a lot easier to catch than the fast-
moving deer and rabbits.)

Over the next 2,000 years, though, game animals grew scarce.
Maybe the people of the area had been too successful
at hunting. Maybe, as the climate grew slowly hotter and drier,
the grasslands where the animals lived shrank, and so
the animal populations shrank, as well. Perhaps the situation
was a combination of these two reasons. Whatever the
explanation, hunters of Puebla and the neighboring state of
Oaxaca turned to plants for more of their food.

Informational Texts: Science, Mathematics, and Technical
Subjects

Euclid. Elements. Translated by Richard Fitzpatrick. Austin:
Richard Fitzpatrick, 2005. (300 BCE)

From Elements, Book 1

Definitions

1. A point is that of which there is no part.

2. And a line is a length without breadth.

3. And the extremities of a line are points.

4. A straight-line is whatever lies evenly with points upon
itself.

5. And a surface is that which has length and breadth alone.

6. And the extremities of a surface are lines.

7. A plane surface is whatever lies evenly with straight-lines
upon itself.

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8. And a plane angle is the inclination of the lines, when two
lines in a plane meet one another, and are not laid
down straight-on with respect to one another.

9. And when the lines containing the angle are straight then the
angle is called rectilinear.

10. And when a straight-line stood upon (another) straight-line
makes adjacent angles (which are) equal to one an-
other, each of the equal angles is a right-angle, and the former
straight-line is called perpendicular to that upon
which it stands.

11. An obtuse angle is greater than a right-angle.

12. And an acute angle is less than a right-angle.

13. A boundary is that which is the extremity of something.

14. A figure is that which is contained by some boundary or
boundaries.

15. A circle is a plane figure contained by a single line [which
is called a circumference], (such that) all of the
straight-lines radiating towards [the circumference] from a
single point lying inside the figure are equal to one
another.

16. And the point is called the center of the circle.

17. And a diameter of the circle is any straight-line, being

drawn through the center, which is brought to an end in
each direction by the circumference of the circle. And any such
(straight-line) cuts the circle in half.

18. And a semi-circle is the figure contained by the diameter
and the circumference it cuts off. And the center of the
semi-circle is the same (point) as the (center of) the circle.

19. Rectilinear figures are those figures contained by straight-
lines: trilateral figures being contained by three
straight-lines, quadrilateral by four, and multilateral by more
than four.

20. And of the trilateral figures: an equilateral triangle is that
having three equal sides, an isosceles (triangle) that
having only two equal sides, and a scalene (triangle) that having
three unequal sides.

21. And further of the trilateral figures: a right-angled triangle
is that having a right-angle, an obtuse-angled (trian-
gle) that having an obtuse angle, and an acute-angled (triangle)
that having three acute angles.

22. And of the quadrilateral figures: a square is that which is
right-angled and equilateral, a rectangle that which is
right-angled but not equilateral, a rhombus that which is
equilateral but not right-angled, and a rhomboid that
having opposite sides and angles equal to one another which is
neither right-angled nor equilateral. And let
quadrilateral figures besides these be called trapezia.

23. Parallel lines are straight-lines which, being in the same
plane, and being produced to infinity in each direction,
meet with one another in neither (of these directions).

Postulates

1. Let it have been postulated to draw a straight-line from any
point to any point.

2. And to produce a finite straight-line continuously in a
straight-line.

3. And to draw a circle with any center and radius.

4. And that all right-angles are equal to one another.

5. And that if a straight-line falling across two (other) straight-
lines makes internal angles on the same side (of
itself) less than two right-angles, being produced to infinity, the
two (other) straight-lines meet on that side (of
the original straight-line) that the (internal angles) are less than
two right-angles (and do not meet on the other
side).

Common Notions

1. Things equal to the same thing are also equal to one another.

2. And if equal things are added to equal things then the wholes
are equal.

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3. And if equal things are subtracted from equal things then the
remainders are equal.

4. And things coinciding with one another are equal to one
another.

5. And the whole [is] greater than the part.

Proposition 1

To construct an equilateral triangle on a given finite straight-
line.

Let AB be the given finite straight-line.

So it is required to construct an equilateral triangle on the
straight-line AB.

Let the circle BCD with center A and radius AB have been
drawn [Post. 3], and again let the circle ACE with center
B and radius BA have been drawn [Post. 3]. And let the
straight-lines CA and CB have been joined from the point C,
where the circles cut one another, to the points A and B
(respectively) [Post. 1].

And since the point A is the center of the circle CDB, AC is
equal to AB [Def. 1.15]. Again, since the point B is the
center of the circle CAE, BC is equal to BA [Def. 1.15]. But CA
was also shown to be equal to AB. Thus, CA and CB are
each equal to AB. But things equal to the same thing are also
equal to one another [C.N.1]. Thus, CA is also equal to
CB. Thus, the three (straight-lines) CA, AB, and BC are equal
to one another.

Thus, the triangle ABC is equilateral, and has been constructed
on the given finite straight-line AB. (Which is) the very
thing it was required to do.

Media Text
Translator Robert Fitzpatrick’s complete version of Euclid’s
Elements of Geometry, in bookmarked PDF form, with
side-by-side Greek and English text:
http://farside.ph.utexas.edu/euclid/Elements.pdf

Cannon, Annie J. “Classifying the Stars.” The Universe of
Stars. Edited by Harlow Shapeley and Cecilia H. Payne.
Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Observatory, 1926. (1926)

Sunlight and starlight are composed of waves of various
lengths, which the eye, even aided by a telescope, is unable
to separate. We must use more than a telescope. In order to sort
out the component colors, the light must be dis-
persed by a prism, or split up by some other means. For
instance, sunbeams passing through rain drops, are trans-
formed into the myriad-tinted rainbow. The familiar rainbow
spanning the sky is Nature’s most glorious demonstration
that light is composed of many colors.

The very beginning of our knowledge of the nature of a star
dates back to 1672, when Isaac Newton gave to the world
the results of his experiments on passing sunlight through a

prism. To describe the beautiful band of rainbow tints,
produced when sunlight was dispersed by his three-cornered
piece of glass, he took from the Latin the word spec-
trum, meaning an appearance. The rainbow is the spectrum of
the Sun.

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[…]

In 1814, more than a century after Newton, the spectrum of the
Sun was obtained in such purity that an amazing
detail was seen and studied by the German optician, Fraunhofer.
He saw that the multiple spectral tings, ranging from
delicate violet to deep red, were crossed by hundreds of fine
dark lines. In other words, there were narrow gaps in the
spectrum where certain shades were wholly blotted out.

We must remember that the word spectrum is applied not only
to sunlight, but also to the light of any glowing sub-
stance when its rays are sorted out by a prism or a grating.

Bronowski, Jacob, and Millicent Selsam. Biography of an Atom.
New York: Harper, 1965. (1965)

The birth began in a young star. A young star is a mass of
hydrogen nuclei. Because the star is hot (about thirteen
million degrees at the center), the nuclei cannot hold on to their
electrons. The electrons wander around. The nuclei
of hydrogen—that is, the protons—are moving about very fast
too. From time to time one proton runs headlong into
another. When this happens, one of the protons loses its electric
charge and changes into a neutron. The pair then
cling together as a single nucleus of heavy hydrogen. This
nucleus will in time capture another proton. Now there is a
nucleus with two protons and one neutron, called light helium.
When two of these nuclei smash into each other, two
protons are expelled in the process. This creates a nucleus of
helium with two protons and two neutrons.

This is the fundamental process of fusion by which the
primitive hydrogen of the universe is built up into a new basic
material, helium. In this process, energy is given off in the form
of heat and light that make the stars shine. It is the
first stage in the birth of the heavier atoms.

Walker, Jearl. “Amusement Park Physics.” Roundabout:
Readings from the Amateur Scientist in Scientific American.
New York: Scientific American, 1985. (1985)
From “Amusement Park Physics: Thinking About Physics While
Scared to Death (on a Falling Roller Coaster)”

The rides in an amusement park not only are fun but also

demonstrate principles of physics. Among them are rota-
tional dynamics and energy conversion. I have been exploring
the rides at Geauga Lake Amusement Park near Cleve-
land and have found that nearly every ride offers a memorable
lesson.

To me the scariest rides at the park are the roller coasters. The
Big Dipper is similar to many of the roller coasters that
have thrilled passengers for most of this century. The cars are
pulled by chain t the top of the highest hill along the
track, Released from the chain as the front of the car begins its
descent, the unpowered cars have almost no speed
and only a small acceleration. As more cars get onto the
downward slope the acceleration increases. It peaks when all
the cars are headed downward. The peak value is the product of
the acceleration generated by gravity and the sine of
the slope of the track. A steeper descent generates a greater
acceleration, but packing the coaster with heavier pas-
sengers does not.

When the coaster reaches the bottom of the valley and starts up
the next hill, there is an instant when the cars are
symmetrically distributed in the valley. The acceleration is
zero. As more cars ascend the coaster begins to slow,
reaching its lowest speed just as it is symmetrically positioned
at the top of the hill.

A roller coaster functions by means of transfers of energy.
When the chain hauls the cars to the top of the first hill,
it does work on the cars, endowing them with gravitational
potential energy, the energy of a body in a gravitational
field with respect to the distance of the body from some
reference level such as the ground. As the cars descend into
the first valley, much of the stored energy is transferred into
kinetic energy, the energy of motion.

Preston, Richard. The Hot Zone: A Terrifying True Story. New
York: Anchor, 1995. (1995)
From “Something in the Forest”

1980 New Year’s Day

Charles Monet was a loner. He was a Frenchman who live by
himself in a little wooden bungalow on the private lands
of the Nzoia Sugar Factory, a plantation in western Kenya that
spread along the Nzoiz Rover within sight of Mount
Elgon, a huge, solitary, extinct volcano that rises to a height of
fourteen thousand feet near the edge of the Rift Valley.
Monet’s history is a little obscure. As with so many expatriates
who end up in Africa, it is not clear what brought him
there. Perhaps he had been in some kind of trouble in France.
Or perhaps he had been drawn to Kenya by the beauty
of the country. He was an amateur naturalist, fond of birds and
animals but not of humanity in general. He was fifty-
six years old, of medium height and medium build with smooth,
straight brown hair; a good-looking man. It seems
that his only close friends were women who lived in towns
around the mountain, yet even they could not recall much
about him for the doctors who investigated his death. His job
was to take care of the sugar factory’s water-pumping
machinery, which drew water from the Nzoia River and
delivered it to many miles of sugar-cane fields. They say that

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he spent most of his day inside the pump house by the river as if
it pleased him to watch and listen to the machines
doing their work.

Devlin, Keith. Life by the Numbers. New York: John Wiley &
Sons, 1999. (1999)
From Chapter 3: “Patterns of Nature”

Though animals come in many shapes and sizes, there are
definite limits on the possible size of an animal of a par-
ticular shape. King Kong simply could not exist, for instance.
As Labarbara has calculated, if you were to take a gorilla
and blow it up to the size of King Kong, its weight would
increase by more than 14,000 times but the size of its bones
would increase by only a few hundred times. Kong’s bones
would simply not be able to support his body. He would
collapse under his own weight!

And the same is true for all those giant locusts, giant ants, and
the like. Imagining giants—giant people, giant animals,
or giant insects—might prove the basis for an entertaining
story, but the rules of science say that giants could not
happen. You can’t have a giant anything. If you want to change
size, you have to change to overall design.

The reason is quite simple. Suppose you double the height (or
length) of any creature, say, a gorilla. The weight will
increase 8 times (i.e., 2 cubed), but the cross section of the
bones will increase only fourfold (2 squared). Or, if you in-
crease the height of the gorilla 10 times, the weight will
increase, 1,000 times (10 cubed), but the cross-sectional area
of the bones will increase only 100 times (10 squared). In
general, when you increase the height by a certain factor,
the weight will increase by the cube of that factor but the cross
section of the bone will increase only by the square
of that factor.

Hoose, Phillip. The Race to Save Lord God Bird. New York:
Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2004. (2004)

Hakim, Joy. The Story of Science: Newton at the Center.
Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Books, 2005. (2005)

Probability, a branch of mathematics, began with gambling.
Pierre de Fermat (of the famous Last Theorem), Blaise
Pascal, and the Bernoullis wanted to know the mathematical
odds of winning at the card table. Probability didn’t tell
them for certain that they would or wouldn’t draw an ace; it just
told them how likely it was. A deck of 52 cards has 4
aces, so the odds of the first drawn card being an ace are 4 in 52
(or 1in 13).

If 20 cards have been played and not an ace among them, those
odds improve to 4 in 32 (1in 8). Always keep in mind
that probability is about the likelihood of outcomes, not the
certainty. If there are only 4 cards left in the deck, and no
aces have been played, you can predict with certainty that the
next card will be an ace—but you’re not using prob-
ability; you’re using fact. Probability is central to the physics
that deals with the complex world inside atoms. We can’t

determine the action of an individual particle, but with a large
number of atoms, predictions based on probability
become very accurate.

Nicastro, Nicholas. Circumference: Eratosthenes and the
Ancient Quest to Measure the Globe. New York: St. Martin’s
Press, 2008. (2008)
From “The Astrolabe”

The astrolabe (in Greek, “star reckoner”) is a manual computing
and observation device with myriad uses in as-
tronomy, time keeping, surveying, navigation, and astrology.
The principles behind the most common variety, the
planispheric astrolabe, were first laid down in antiquity by the
Greeks, who pioneered the notion of projecting three-
dimensional images on flat surfaces. The device reached a high
degree of refinement in the medieval Islamic world,
where it was invaluable for determining prayer times and the
direction of Mecca from anywhere in the Muslim world.
The astrolabe was introduced to Europe by the eleventh century,
where is saw wide use until the Renaissance.

The fundamental innovation underlying the astrolabe was the
projection of an image of the sky (usually the northern
hemisphere, centered on Polaris) on a plane corresponding to
the earth’s equator. This image, which was typically
etched on a brass plate, was inserted into a round frame (the
mater) whose circumference was marked in degrees
or hours. Over the plate was fitted a lattice-work disk, the rete,
with pointers to indicate the positions of major stars.
A metal hand, similar to those on a clock, was hinged with the
rete at the center of the instrument, as was a sighting
vane (the alidade) for determining the angular height of the
stars or other features, such as mountaintops. The entire
device was usually not more than six to eight inches in diameter
and half an inch thick.

One common use of the astrolabe was to determine the time of
day, even after dark.

Other uses included determination of sunrise, and sunset times
for any date past or future, predicting eclipses, finding
important stars or constellations, and measuring the height of
earthbound objects and the circumference of the earth.
For this and other reasons, the astrolabe has been called “the
world’s first personal computer.”

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U.S. Environmental Protection Agency/U.S. Department of
Energy. Recommended Levels of Insulation.
http://www.energystar.gov/index.cfm?c=home_sealing.hm_impr
ovement_insulation_table 2010. (2010)

Recommended Levels of Insulation

Insulation level are specified by R-Value. R-Value is a measure
of insulation’s ability to resist heat traveling through it.
The higher the R-Value the better the thermal per

Zone
Add Insulation to Attic

FloorUninsulated Attic
Existing 3–4 Inches of

Insulation
1 R30 to R49 R25 to R30 R13
2 R30 to R60 R25 to R38 R13 to R19
3 R30 to R60 R25 to R38 R19 to R25
4 R38 to R60 R38 R25 to R30

5 to 8 R49 to R60 R38 to R49 R25 to R30
Wall Insulation: Whenever exterior siding is removed on an

Uninsulated wood-frame wall:

· Drill holes in the sheathing and blow insulation into the
empty wall cavity before
installing the new siding, and

· Zones 3–4: Add R5 insulative wall sheathing beneath the
new siding

· Zones 5–8: Add R5 to R6 insulative wall sheathing
beneath the new siding.

·

Insulated wood-frame wall:

· For Zones 4 to 8: Add R5 insulative sheathing before
installing the new siding.

Sample Performance Tasks for Informational Texts:
History/Social Studies & Science,
Mathematics, and Technical Subjects

• Students compare the similarities and differences in point
of view in works by Dee Brown and Evan Connell
regarding the Battle of Little Bighorn, analyzing how the
authors treat the same event and which details they
include and emphasize in their respective accounts. [RH.9–10.6]

• Students analyze the role of African American soldiers in
the Civil War by comparing and contrasting primary
source materials against secondary syntheses such as Jim
Haskins’s Black, Blue and Gray: African Americans in
the Civil War. [RH.9–10.9]

• Students determine the meaning of words such as
quadrant, astrolabe, equator, and horizon line in Joan
Dash’s The Longitude Prize as well as phrases such as dead
reckoning and sailing the parallel that reflect social
aspects of history. [RH.9–10.4]

• Students cite specific textual evidence from Annie J.
Cannon’s “Classifying the Stars” to support their analysis
of the scientific importance of the discovery that light is
composed of many colors. Students include in their
analysis precise details from the text (such as Cannon’s
repeated use of the image of the rainbow) to buttress
their explanation. [RST.9–10.1].

• Students determine how Jearl Walker clarifies the

phenomenon of acceleration in his essay “Amusement Park
Physics,” accurately summarizing his conclusions regarding the
physics of roller coasters and tracing how sup-

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porting details regarding the processes of rotational dynamics
and energy conversion are incorporated in his
explanation. [RST.9–10.2]

• Students read in Phillip Hoose’s Race to Save Lord God
Bird about the attempts scientists and bird-lovers
made to save the ivory-billed woodpecker from extinction and
assess the extent to which the reasoning and
evidence Hoose presents supports his scientific analysis of why
protecting this particular species was so chal-
lenging. [RST.9–10.8]

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Grades 11–ccr text exemplars

Stories

Chaucer, Geoffrey. The Canterbury Tales. Translated into
modern English by Neville Coghill. Harmondsworth:
Penguin, 1951. (Late 14th Century)
From The General Prologue

When in April the sweet showers fall
That pierce March’s drought to the root and all
And bathed every vein in liquor that has power
To generate therein and sire the flower;
When Zephyr also has with his sweet breath,

Filled again, in every holt and heath,
The tender shoots and leaves, and the young sun
His half-course in the sign of the Ram has run,
And many little birds make melody
That sleep through all the night with open eye
(So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage)
Then folk do long to go on pilgrimage,
And palmers to go seeking out strange strands,
To distant shrines well known in distant lands.
And specially from every shire’s end
Of England they to Canterbury went,
The holy blessed martyr there to seek
Who helped them when they lay so ill and weak
It happened that, in that season, on a day
In Southwark, at the Tabard, as I lay
Ready to go on pilgrimage and start
To Canterbury, full devout at heart,
There came at nightfall to that hostelry
Some nine and twenty in a company
Of sundry persons who had chanced to fall
In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all
That toward Canterbury town would ride.
The rooms and stables spacious were and wide,
And well we there were eased, and of the best.
And briefly, when the sun had gone to rest,
So had I spoken with them, every one,
That I was of their fellowship anon,
And made agreement that we’d early rise
To take the road, as I will to you apprise.
But none the less, whilst I have time and space,
Before yet further in this tale I pace,
It seems to me in accord with reason
To describe to you the state of every one
Of each of them, as it appeared to me,
And who they were, and what was their degree,
And even what clothes they were dressed in;

And with a knight thus will I first begin.

de Cervantes, Miguel. Don Quixote: The Ormsby Translation,
Revised Backgrounds and Sources Criticism. New York:
W. W. Norton, 1981. (1605)

In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire
to call to mind, there lived not long since one of those
gentlemen that keep a lance in the lance-rack, an old buckler, a
lean hack, and a greyhound for coursing. An olla of
rather more beef than mutton, a salad on most nights, scraps on
Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and a pigeon or so ex-
tra on Sundays, made away with three-quarters of his income.
The rest of it went in a doublet of fine cloth and velvet

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breeches and shoes to match for holidays, while on week-days
he made a brave figure in his best homespun. He had
in his house a housekeeper past forty, a niece under twenty, and
a lad for the field and market-place, who used to
saddle the hack as well as handle the bill-hook. The age of this
gentleman of ours was bordering on fifty; he was of a
hardy habit, spare, gaunt-featured, a very early riser and a great
sportsman. They will have it his surname was Quixa-
da or Quesada (for here there is some difference of opinion
among the authors who write on the subject), although
from reasonable conjectures it seems plain that he was called
Quexana. This, however, is of but little importance to
our tale; it will be enough not to stray a hair’s breadth from the
truth in the telling of it.

You must know, then, that the above-named gentleman
whenever he was at leisure (which was mostly all the year
round) gave himself up to reading books of chivalry with such
ardour and avidity that he almost entirely neglected
the pursuit of his field-sports, and even the management of his
property; and to such a pitch did his eagerness and
infatuation go that he sold many an acre of tillageland to buy
books of chivalry to read, and brought home as many of
them as he could get. But of all there were none he liked so well
as those of the famous Feliciano de Silva’s composi-
tion, for their lucidity of style and complicated conceits were as
pearls in his sight, particularly when in his reading
he came upon courtships and cartels, where he often found
passages like “the reason of the unreason with which my
reason is afflicted so weakens my reason that with reason I
murmur at your beauty;” or again, “the high heavens, that
of your divinity divinely fortify you with the stars, render you
deserving of the desert your greatness deserves.” Over
conceits of this sort the poor gentleman lost his wits, and used
to lie awake striving to understand them and worm
the meaning out of them; what Aristotle himself could not have

made out or extracted had he come to life again for
that special purpose. He was not at all easy about the wounds
which Don Belianis gave and took, because it seemed
to him that, great as were the surgeons who had cured him, he
must have had his face and body covered all over with
seams and scars. He commended, however, the author’s way of
ending his book with the promise of that interminable
adventure, and many a time was he tempted to take up his pen
and finish it properly as is there proposed, which
no doubt he would have done, and made a successful piece of
work of it too, had not greater and more absorbing
thoughts prevented him.

Many an argument did he have with the curate of his village (a
learned man, and a graduate of Siguenza) as to which
had been the better knight, Palmerin of England or Amadis of
Gaul. Master Nicholas, the village barber, however, used
to say that neither of them came up to the Knight of Phoebus,
and that if there was any that could compare with him
it was Don Galaor, the brother of Amadis of Gaul, because he
had a spirit that was equal to every occasion, and was
no finikin knight, nor lachrymose like his brother, while in the
matter of valour he was not a whit behind him. In short,
he became so absorbed in his books that he spent his nights
from sunset to sunrise, and his days from dawn to dark,
poring over them; and what with little sleep and much reading
his brains got so dry that he lost his wits. His fancy
grew full of what he used to read about in his books,
enchantments, quarrels, battles, challenges, wounds, wooings,
loves, agonies, and all sorts of impossible nonsense; and it so
possessed his mind that the whole fabric of invention
and fancy he read of was true, that to him no history in the
world had more reality in it. He used to say the Cid Ruy
Diaz was a very good knight, but that he was not to be
compared with the Knight of the Burning Sword who with one
back-stroke cut in half two fierce and monstrous giants. He

thought more of Bernardo del Carpio because at Ronces-
valles he slew Roland in spite of enchantments, availing himself
of the artifice of Hercules when he strangled Antaeus
the son of Terra in his arms. He approved highly of the giant
Morgante, because, although of the giant breed which
is always arrogant and ill-conditioned, he alone was affable and
well-bred. But above all he admired Reinaldos of Mon-
talban, especially when he saw him sallying forth from his
castle and robbing everyone he met, and when beyond the
seas he stole that image of Mahomet which, as his history says,
was entirely of gold. To have a bout of kicking at that
traitor of a Ganelon he would have given his housekeeper, and
his niece into the bargain.

In short, his wits being quite gone, he hit upon the strangest
notion that ever madman in this world hit upon, and
that was that he fancied it was right and requisite, as well for
the support of his own honour as for the service of his
country, that he should make a knight-errant of himself,
roaming the world over in full armour and on horseback in
quest of adventures, and putting in practice himself all that he
had read of as being the usual practices of knights-
errant; righting every kind of wrong, and exposing himself to
peril and danger from which, in the issue, he was to reap
eternal renown and fame. Already the poor man saw himself
crowned by the might of his arm Emperor of Trebizond
at least; and so, led away by the intense enjoyment he found in
these pleasant fancies, he set himself forthwith to put
his scheme into execution.

The first thing he did was to clean up some armour that had
belonged to his great-grandfather, and had been for ages
lying forgotten in a corner eaten with rust and covered with
mildew. He scoured and polished it as best he could, but
he perceived one great defect in it, that it had no closed helmet,
nothing but a simple morion. This deficiency, howev-

er, his ingenuity supplied, for he contrived a kind of half-helmet
of pasteboard which, fitted on to the morion, looked
like a whole one. It is true that, in order to see if it was strong
and fit to stand a cut, he drew his sword and gave it a
couple of slashes, the first of which undid in an instant what
had taken him a week to do. The ease with which he had
knocked it to pieces disconcerted him somewhat, and to guard
against that danger he set to work again, fixing bars
of iron on the inside until he was satisfied with its strength; and
then, not caring to try any more experiments with it,
he passed it and adopted it as a helmet of the most perfect
construction.

He next proceeded to inspect his hack, which, with more quartos
than a real and more blemishes than the steed of
Gonela, that “tantum pellis et ossa fuit,” surpassed in his eyes
the Bucephalus of Alexander or the Babieca of the Cid.
Four days were spent in thinking what name to give him,
because (as he said to himself) it was not right that a horse

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belonging to a knight so famous, and one with such merits of
his own, should be without some distinctive name, and
he strove to adapt it so as to indicate what he had been before
belonging to a knight-errant, and what he then was;
for it was only reasonable that, his master taking a new
character, he should take a new name, and that it should be a
distinguished and full-sounding one, befitting the new order and
calling he was about to follow. And so, after having
composed, struck out, rejected, added to, unmade, and remade a
multitude of names out of his memory and fancy, he
decided upon calling him Rocinante, a name, to his thinking,
lofty, sonorous, and significant of his condition as a hack
before he became what he now was, the first and foremost of all
the hacks in the world.

Having got a name for his horse so much to his taste, he was
anxious to get one for himself, and he was eight days
more pondering over this point, till at last he made up his mind
to call himself “Don Quixote,” whence, as has been al-
ready said, the authors of this veracious history have inferred
that his name must have been beyond a doubt Quixada,
and not Quesada as others would have it. Recollecting, however,
that the valiant Amadis was not content to call him-
self curtly Amadis and nothing more, but added the name of his
kingdom and country to make it famous, and called
himself Amadis of Gaul, he, like a good knight, resolved to add
on the name of his, and to style himself Don Quixote of
La Mancha, whereby, he considered, he described accurately his
origin and country, and did honour to it in taking his
surname from it.

So then, his armour being furbished, his morion turned into a
helmet, his hack christened, and he himself confirmed,
he came to the conclusion that nothing more was needed now
but to look out for a lady to be in love with; for a
knight-errant without love was like a tree without leaves or
fruit, or a body without a soul. As he said to himself, “If,
for my sins, or by my good fortune, I come across some giant
hereabouts, a common occurrence with knights-errant,
and overthrow him in one onslaught, or cleave him asunder to
the waist, or, in short, vanquish and subdue him, will
it not be well to have some one I may send him to as a present,
that he may come in and fall on his knees before my
sweet lady, and in a humble, submissive voice say, ‘I am the
giant Caraculiambro, lord of the island of Malindrania,
vanquished in single combat by the never sufficiently extolled
knight Don Quixote of La Mancha, who has com-
manded me to present myself before your Grace, that your
Highness dispose of me at your pleasure’?” Oh, how our
good gentleman enjoyed the delivery of this speech, especially
when he had thought of some one to call his Lady!
There was, so the story goes, in a village near his own a very
good-looking farm-girl with whom he had been at one
time in love, though, so far as is known, she never knew it nor
gave a thought to the matter. Her name was Aldonza
Lorenzo, and upon her he thought fit to confer the title of Lady
of his Thoughts; and after some search for a name
which should not be out of harmony with her own, and should
suggest and indicate that of a princess and great lady,
he decided upon calling her Dulcinea del Toboso—she being of
El Toboso—a name, to his mind, musical, uncommon,
and significant, like all those he had already bestowed upon
himself and the things belonging to him.

Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. New York: Oxford
University Press, 1990. (1813)
From Chapter 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in
possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may
be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so
well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families that he is
considered as the rightful property of someone or other
of their daughters.

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you
heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?”

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

“But it is,” returned she; “for Mrs. Long has just been here, and
she told me all about it.”

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

“Do not you want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife
impatiently.

“You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”

This was invitation enough.

“Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that
Netherfield is taken by a young man of large fortune from the
north of England; that he came down on Monday in a chaise and
four to see the place, and was so much delighted
with it, that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is
to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his
servants are to be in the house by the end of next week.”

“What is his name?”

“Bingley.”

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“Is he married or single?”

“Oh! single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune;
four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our
girls!”

“How so? how can it affect them?”

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” replied his wife, “how can you be so
tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying
one of them.”

“Is that his design in settling here?”

“Design! nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely
that he may fall in love with one of them, and therefore
you must visit him as soon as he comes.”

“I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you
may send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still
better, for as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley
might like you the best of the party.”

“My dear, you flatter me. I certainly have had my share of
beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary
now. When a woman has five grown-up daughters she ought to
give over thinking of her own beauty.”

“In such cases a woman has not often much beauty to think of.”

“But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he
comes into the neighbourhood.”

“It is more than I engage for, I assure you.”

“But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment
it would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady
Lucas are determined to go, merely on that account, for in
general, you know, they visit no new-comers. Indeed you
must go, for it will be impossible for us to visit him if you do
not.”

“You are over-scrupulous surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be
very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you
to assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever
he chooses of the girls: though I must throw in a good
word for my little Lizzy.”

“I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than
the others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome
as Jane, nor half so good-humoured as Lydia. But you are
always giving her the preference.”

“They have none of them much to recommend them,” replied he;
“they are all silly and ignorant, like other girls; but
Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters.”

“Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a
way! You take delight in vexing me. You have no compas-
sion on my poor nerves.”

“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your
nerves. They are my old friends. I have heard you mention
them with consideration these twenty years at least.”

“Ah! you do not know what I suffer.”

“But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young
men of four thousand a year come into the neighbour-
hood.”

“It will be no use to us if twenty such should come, since you
will not visit them.”

“Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will
visit them all.”

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic
humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-
and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife
understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to
develop. She was a woman of mean understanding, little
information, and uncertain temper. When she was discon-
tented she fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was

to get her daughters married; its solace was visiting
and news.

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Poe, Edgar Allan. “The Cask of Amontillado.” Complete Stories
and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. New York:
Doubleday, 1984. (1846)

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could,
but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge.
You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose,
however, that gave utterance to a threat. At length I
would be avenged; this was a point definitely, settled --but the
very definitiveness with which it was resolved pre-
cluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with
impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution

overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the
avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has
done the wrong.

It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given
Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued,
as was my in to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that
my smile now was at the thought of his immolation.

He had a weak point --this Fortunato --although in other regards
he was a man to be respected and even feared. He
prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians
have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthu-
siasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practise
imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In
painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a
quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In
this respect I did not differ from him materially; --I was skilful
in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely when-
ever I could.

It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of
the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He
accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking
much. The man wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting
parti-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical
cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I
thought I should never have done wringing his hand.

I said to him --”My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How
remarkably well you are looking to-day. But I have re-
ceived a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my
doubts.”

“How?” said he. “Amontillado, A pipe? Impossible! And in the
middle of the carnival!”

“I have my doubts,” I replied; “and I was silly enough to pay
the full Amontillado price without consulting you in the
matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a
bargain.”

“Amontillado!”

“I have my doubts.”

“Amontillado!”

“And I must satisfy them.”

“Amontillado!”

“As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchresi. If any one
has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me --”

“Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry.”

“And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for
your own.

“Come, let us go.”

Brontë, Charlotte. Jane Eyre. Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2000. (1848)
From Chapter 1

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been
wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour
in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no
company, dined early) the cold winter wind had
brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that
further out-door exercise was now out of the ques-

tion.

I was glad of it: I never liked long walks, especially on chilly
afternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the
raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened
by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, and humbled by
the consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and
Georgiana Reed.

The said Eliza, John, and Georgiana were now clustered round
their mama in the drawing-room: she lay reclined on
a sofa by the fireside, and with her darlings about her (for the
time neither quarrelling nor crying) looked perfectly
happy. Me, she had dispensed from joining the group; saying,
“She regretted to be under the necessity of keeping
me at a distance; but that until she heard from Bessie, and could
discover by her own observation, that I was endea-

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vouring in good earnest to acquire a more sociable and childlike
disposition, a more attractive and sprightly man-
ner—something lighter, franker, more natural, as it were—she
really must exclude me from privileges intended only for
contented, happy, little children.”

“What does Bessie say I have done?” I asked.

“Jane, I don’t like cavillers or questioners; besides, there is
something truly forbidding in a child taking up her elders in
that manner. Be seated somewhere; and until you can speak
pleasantly, remain silent.”

A breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room, I slipped in there.
It contained a bookcase: I soon possessed myself of a
volume, taking care that it should be one stored with pictures. I
mounted into the window-seat: gathering up my feet,
I sat cross-legged, like a Turk; and, having drawn the red
moreen curtain nearly close, I was shrined in double retire-
ment.

Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to
the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but
not separating me from the drear November day. At intervals,
while turning over the leaves of my book, I studied the
aspect of that winter afternoon. Afar, it offered a pale blank of
mist and cloud; near a scene of wet lawn and storm-
beat shrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a
long and lamentable blast.

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The Scarlet Letter: A Romance. New
York: Penguin, 2003. (1850)
From Chapter 16

The road, after the two wayfarers had crossed from the
Peninsula to the mainland, was no other than a foot-path.
It straggled onward into the mystery of the primeval forest. This
hemmed it in so narrowly, and stood so black and
dense on either side, and disclosed such imperfect glimpses of
the sky above, that, to Hester’s mind, it imaged not
amiss the moral wilderness in which she had so long been
wandering. The day was chill and sombre. Overhead was
a gray expanse of cloud, slightly stirred, however, by a breeze;
so that a gleam of flickering sunshine might now and
then be seen at its solitary play along the path. This flitting
cheerfulness was always at the further extremity of some
long vista through the forest. The sportive sunlight--feebly
sportive, at best, in the predominant pensiveness of the
day and scene--withdrew itself as they came nigh, and left the
spots where it had danced the drearier, because they
had hoped to find them bright.

“Mother,” said little Pearl, “the sunshine does not love you. It
runs away and hides itself, because it is afraid of some-
thing on your bosom. Now, see! There it is, playing a good way
off. Stand you here, and let me run and catch it. I am
but a child. It will not flee from me--for I wear nothing on my
bosom yet!”

“Nor ever will, my child, I hope,” said Hester.

“And why not, mother?” asked Pearl, stopping short, just at the
beginning of her race. “Will not it come of its own ac-
cord when I am a woman grown?”

“Run away, child,” answered her mother, “and catch the
sunshine. It will soon be gone “

Pearl set forth at a great pace, and as Hester smiled to perceive,

did actually catch the sunshine, and stood laughing
in the midst of it, all brightened by its splendor, and
scintillating with the vivacity excited by rapid motion. The light
lingered about the lonely child, as if glad of such a playmate,
until her mother had drawn almost nigh enough to step
into the magic circle too.

“It will go now,” said Pearl, shaking her head.

“See!” answered Hester, smiling; “now I can stretch out my
hand and grasp some of it.”

As she attempted to do so, the sunshine vanished; or, to judge
from the bright expression that was dancing on Pearl’s
features, her mother could have fancied that the child had
absorbed it into herself, and would give it forth again, with
a gleam about her path, as they should plunge into some
gloomier shade. There was no other attribute that so much
impressed her with a sense of new and untransmitted vigor in
Pearl’s nature, as this never failing vivacity of spirits:
she had not the disease of sadness, which almost all children, in
these latter days, inherit, with the scrofula, from the
troubles of their ancestors. Perhaps this, too, was a disease, and
but the reflex of the wild energy with which Hester
had fought against her sorrows before Pearl’s birth. It was
certainly a doubtful charm, imparting a hard, metallic lustre
to the child’s character. She wanted--what some people want
throughout life--a grief that should deeply touch her,
and thus humanize and make her capable of sympathy. But there
was time enough yet for little Pearl.

“Come, my child!” said Hester, looking about her from the spot
where Pearl had stood still in the sunshine--”we will sit
down a little way within the wood, and rest ourselves.”

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Dostoevsky, Fyodor. Crime and Punishment. Translated by
Constance Black Garnett. New York: Dover, 2001. (1866)

On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man
came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and
walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge.

He had successfully avoided meeting his landlady on the
staircase. His garret was under the roof of a high, five-sto-
ried house and was more like a cupboard than a room. The
landlady who provided him with garret, dinners, and at-
tendance, lived on the floor below, and every time he went out
he was obliged to pass her kitchen, the door of which
invariably stood open. And each time he passed, the young man
had a sick, frightened feeling, which made him scowl
and feel ashamed. He was hopelessly in debt to his landlady,

and was afraid of meeting her.

This was not because he was cowardly and abject, quite the
contrary; but for some time past he had been in an over-
strained irritable condition, verging on hypochondria. He had
become so completely absorbed in himself, and isolated
from his fellows that he dreaded meeting, not only his landlady,
but anyone at all. He was crushed by poverty, but
the anxieties of his position had of late ceased to weigh upon
him. He had given up attending to matters of practi-
cal importance; he had lost all desire to do so. Nothing that any
landlady could do had a real terror for him. But to be
stopped on the stairs, to be forced to listen to her trivial,
irrelevant gossip, to pestering demands for payment, threats
and complaints, and to rack his brains for excuses, to
prevaricate, to lie—no, rather than that, he would creep down
the stairs like a cat and slip out unseen.

This evening, however, on coming out into the street, he became
acutely aware of his fears.

“I want to attempt a thing like that and am frightened by these
trifles,” he thought, with an odd smile. “Hm... yes, all is
in a man’s hands and he lets it all slip from cowardice, that’s an
axiom. It would be interesting to know what it is men
are most afraid of. Taking a new step, uttering a new word is
what they fear most.... But I am talking too much. It’s
because I chatter that I do nothing. Or perhaps it is that I chatter
because I do nothing. I’ve learned to chatter this last
month, lying for days together in my den thinking... of Jack the
Giant-killer. Why am I going there now? Am I capable
of that? Is that serious? It is not serious at all. It’s simply a
fantasy to amuse myself; a plaything! Yes, maybe it is a
plaything.”

The heat in the street was terrible: and the airlessness, the

bustle and the plaster, scaffolding, bricks, and dust all
about him, and that special Petersburg stench, so familiar to all
who are unable to get out of town in summer—all
worked painfully upon the young man’s already overwrought
nerves. The insufferable stench from the pot-houses,
which are particularly numerous in that part of the town, and
the drunken men whom he met continually, although it
was a working day, completed the revolting misery of the
picture. An expression of the profoundest disgust gleamed
for a moment in the young man’s refined face. He was, by the
way, exceptionally handsome, above the average in
height, slim, well-built, with beautiful dark eyes and dark
brown hair. Soon he sank into deep thought, or more accu-
rately speaking into a complete blankness of mind; he walked
along not observing what was about him and not caring
to observe it. From time to time, he would mutter something,
from the habit of talking to himself, to which he had just
confessed. At these moments he would become conscious that
his ideas were sometimes in a tangle and that he was
very weak; for two days he had scarcely tasted food.

He was so badly dressed that even a man accustomed to
shabbiness would have been ashamed to be seen in the
street in such rags. In that quarter of the town, however,
scarcely any shortcoming in dress would have created sur-
prise. Owing to the proximity of the Hay Market, the number of
establishments of bad character, the preponderance
of the trading and working class population crowded in these
streets and alleys in the heart of Petersburg, types so
various were to be seen in the streets that no figure, however
queer, would have caused surprise. But there was such
accumulated bitterness and contempt in the young man’s heart,
that, in spite of all the fastidiousness of youth, he
minded his rags least of all in the street. It was a different
matter when he met with acquaintances or with former fel-
low students, whom, indeed, he disliked meeting at any time.

And yet when a drunken man who, for some unknown
reason, was being taken somewhere in a huge waggon dragged
by a heavy dray horse, suddenly shouted at him as he
drove past: “Hey there, German hatter” bawling at the top of his
voice and pointing at him—the young man stopped
suddenly and clutched tremulously at his hat. It was a tall round
hat from Zimmerman’s, but completely worn out,
rusty with age, all torn and bespattered, brimless and bent on
one side in a most unseemly fashion. Not shame, how-
ever, but quite another feeling akin to terror had overtaken him.

Jewett, Sarah Orne. “A White Heron.” A White Heron and Other
Stories. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1886. (1886)

Half a mile from home, at the farther edge of the woods, where
the land was highest, a great pine-tree stood, the
last of its generation. Whether it was left for a boundary mark,
or for what reason, no one could say; the woodchop-
pers who had felled its mates were dead and gone long ago, and
a whole forest of sturdy trees, pines and oaks and
maples, had grown again. But the stately head of this old pine
towered above them all and made a landmark for sea
and shore miles and miles away. Sylvia knew it well. She had
always believed that whoever climbed to the top of it
could see the ocean; and the little girl had often laid her hand
on the great rough trunk and looked up wistfully at
those dark boughs that the wind always stirred, no matter how
hot and still the air might be below. Now she thought
of the tree with a new excitement, for why, if one climbed it at
break of day, could not one see all the world, and easily
discover from whence the white heron flew, and mark the place,
and find the hidden nest?

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What a spirit of adventure, what wild ambition! What fancied
triumph and delight and glory for the later morning
when she could make known the secret! It was almost too real
and too great for the childish heart to bear.

All night the door of the little house stood open and the
whippoorwills came and sang upon the very step. The young
sportsman and his old hostess were sound asleep, but Sylvia’s
great design kept her broad awake and watching.
She forgot to think of sleep. The short summer night seemed as
long as the winter darkness, and at last when the
whippoorwills ceased, and she was afraid the morning would
after all come too soon, she stole out of the house and
followed the pasture path through the woods, hastening toward
the open ground beyond, listening with a sense of
comfort and companionship to the drowsy twitter of a half-
awakened bird, whose perch she had jarred in passing.
Alas, if the great wave of human interest which flooded for the

first time this dull little life should sweep away the
satisfactions of an existence heart to heart with nature and the
dumb life of the forest!

There was the huge tree asleep yet in the paling moonlight, and
small and silly Sylvia began with utmost bravery to
mount to the top of it, with tingling, eager blood coursing the
channels of her whole frame, with her bare feet and
fingers, that pinched and held like bird’s claws to the monstrous
ladder reaching up, up, almost to the sky itself. First
she must mount the white oak tree that grew alongside, where
she was almost lost among the dark branches and the
green leaves heavy and wet with dew; a bird fluttered off its
nest, and a red squirrel ran to and fro and scolded pet-
tishly at the harmless housebreaker. Sylvia felt her way easily.
She had often climbed there, and knew that higher still
one of the oak’s upper branches chafed against the pine trunk,
just where its lower boughs were set close together.
There, when she made the dangerous pass from one tree to the
other, the great enterprise would really begin.

She crept out along the swaying oak limb at last, and took the
daring step across into the old pine-tree. The way was
harder than she thought; she must reach far and hold fast, the
sharp dry twigs caught and held her and scratched her
like angry talons, the pitch made her thin little fingers clumsy
and stiff as she went round and round the tree’s great
stem, higher and higher upward. The sparrows and robins in the
woods below were beginning to wake and twitter
to the dawn, yet it seemed much lighter there aloft in the pine-
tree, and the child knew she must hurry if her project
were to be of any use.

The tree seemed to lengthen itself out as she went up, and to
reach farther and farther upward. It was like a great
main-mast to the voyaging earth; it must truly have been

amazed that morning through all its ponderous frame as it
felt this determined spark of human spirit wending its way from
higher branch to branch. Who knows how steadily
the least twigs held themselves to advantage this light, weak
creature on her way! The old pine must have loved his
new dependent. More than all the hawks, and bats, and moths,
and even the sweet voiced thrushes, was the brave,
beating heart of the solitary gray-eyed child. And the tree stood
still and frowned away the winds that June morning
while the dawn grew bright in the east.

Sylvia’s face was like a pale star, if one had seen it from the
ground, when the last thorny bough was past, and she
stood trembling and tired but wholly triumphant, high in the
tree-top. Yes, there was the sea with the dawning sun
making a golden dazzle over it, and toward that glorious east
flew two hawks with slow-moving pinions. How low
they looked in the air from that height when one had only seen
them before far up, and dark against the blue sky.
Their gray feathers were as soft as moths; they seemed only a
little way from the tree, and Sylvia felt as if she too
could go flying away among the clouds. Westward, the
woodlands and farms reached miles and miles into the dis-
tance; here and there were church steeples, and white villages,
truly it was a vast and awesome world.

Melville, Herman. Billy Budd, Sailor. New York: Penguin,
1986. (1886)
From Chapter 26

At sea in the old time, the execution by halter of a military
sailor was generally from the fore-yard. In the present
instance, for special reasons the main-yard was assigned. Under
an arm of that lee-yard the prisoner was presently
brought up, the Chaplain attending him. It was noted at the time
and remarked upon afterwards, that in this final

scene the good man evinced little or nothing of the perfunctory.
Brief speech indeed he had with the condemned
one, but the genuine Gospel was less on his tongue than in his
aspect and manner towards him. The final prepara-
tions personal to the latter being speedily brought to an end by
two boatswain’s mates, the consummation impended.
Billy stood facing aft. At the penultimate moment, his words,
his only ones, words wholly unobstructed in the ut-
terance were these -- “God bless Captain Vere!” Syllables so
unanticipated coming from one with the ignominious
hemp about his neck -- a conventional felon’s benediction
directed aft towards the quarters of honor; syllables too
delivered in the clear melody of a singing-bird on the point of
launching from the twig, had a phenomenal effect, not
unenhanced by the rare personal beauty of the young sailor
spiritualized now thro’ late experiences so poignantly
profound.

Without volition as it were, as if indeed the ship’s populace
were but the vehicles of some vocal current electric, with
one voice from alow and aloft came a resonant sympathetic echo
-- “God bless Captain Vere!” And yet at that instant
Billy alone must have been in their hearts, even as he was in
their eyes.

At the pronounced words and the spontaneous echo that
voluminously rebounded them, Captain Vere, either thro’
stoic self-control or a sort of momentary paralysis induced by
emotional shock, stood erectly rigid as a musket in the
ship-armorer’s rack.

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The hull deliberately recovering from the periodic roll to
leeward was just regaining an even keel, when the last signal,
a preconcerted dumb one, was given. At the same moment it
chanced that the vapory fleece hanging low in the East,
was shot thro’ with a soft glory as of the fleece of the Lamb of
God seen in mystical vision, and simultaneously there-
with, watched by the wedged mass of upturned faces, Billy
ascended; and, ascending, took the full rose of the dawn.

In the pinioned figure, arrived at the yard-end, to the wonder of
all no motion was apparent, none save that created
by the ship’s motion, in moderate weather so majestic in a great
ship ponderously cannoned.

Chekhov, Anton. “Home.” Translated by Constance Garnett.
Early Short Stories 1883–1888. New York: Modern
Library, 1999. 352–361. (1887)

‘Somebody came from the Grigorievs’ to fetch a book, but I
said you were not at home. The postman has brought the

newspapers and two letters. And, by the way, sir, I wish you
would give your attention to Seriozha. I saw him smoking
today and also the day before yesterday. When I told him how
wrong it was he put his fingers in his ears, as he always
does, and began to sing loudly so as to drown my voice.’

Eugene Bilovsky, an attorney of the circuit court, who had just
come home from a session and was taking off his
gloves in his study, looked at the governess who was making
this statement and laughed.

‘So Seriozha has been smoking!’ he said with a shrug of his
shoulders. ‘Fancy the little beggar with a cigarette in his
mouth! How old is he?’

‘Seven years old. It seems of small consequence to you, but at
his age smoking is a bad, a harmful habit; and bad
habits should be nipped in the bud.’

‘You are absolutely right. Where does he get the tobacco?’

‘From your table.’

‘He does? In that case, send him to me.’

When the governess had gone, Bilovsky sat down in an easy-
chair before his writing-table and began to think. For
some reason he pictured to himself his Seriozha enveloped in
clouds of tobacco smoke, with a huge, yard-long ciga-
rette in his mouth, and this caricature made him smile. At the
same time the earnest, anxious face of the governess
awakened in him memories of days long past and half-forgotten,
when smoking at school and in the nursery aroused
in masters and parents a strange, almost incomprehensible
horror. It really was horror. Children were unmercifully
flogged, and expelled from school, and their lives were

blighted, although not one of the teachers nor fathers knew
exactly what constituted the harm and offence of smoking. Even
very intelligent people did not hesitate to combat
the vice they did not understand. Bilovsky called to mind the
principal of his school, a highly educated, good-natured
old man, who was so shocked when he caught a scholar with a
cigarette that he would turn pale and immediately
summon a special session of the school board and sentence the
offender to expulsion. No doubt that is one of the
laws of society—the less an evil is understood the more bitterly
and harshly it is attacked.

The attorney thought of the two or three boys who had been
expelled and of their subsequent lives, and could not
but reflect that punishment is, in many cases, more productive
of evil than crime itself. The living organism possesses
the faculty of quickly adapting itself to every condition; if it
were not so man would be conscious every moment of
the unreasonable foundations on which his reasonable actions
rest and how little of justice and assurance are to be
found even in those activities which are fraught with so much
responsibility and which are so appalling in their conse-
quences, such as education, literature, the law—

And thoughts such as these came floating into Bilovsky’s head;
light, evanescent thoughts such as only enter weary,
resting brains. One knows not whence they are nor why they
come; they stay but a short while and seem to spread
across the surface of the brain without ever sinking very far into
its depths. For those whose minds for hours and days
together are forced to be occupied with business and to travel
always along the same lines, these homelike, untram-
melled musings bring a sort of comfort and a pleasant
restfulness of their own.

It was nine o’clock. On the floor overhead someone was pacing

up and down, and still higher up, on the third storey,
four hands were playing scales on the piano. The person who
was pacing the floor seemed, from his nervous strides,
to be the victim of tormenting thoughts or of the toothache; his
footsteps and the monotonous scales added to the
quiet of the evening something somnolent that predisposed the
mind to idle reveries.

In the nursery, two rooms away, Seriozha and his governess
were talking.

‘Pa–pa has come!” sang the boy. “Papa has co–ome! Pa! Pa!
Pa!’

‘Votre père vous appelle, allez vite!’ cried the governess,
twittering like a frightened bird.

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‘What shall I say to him?’ thought Bilovsky.

But before he had time to think of anything to say his son
Seriozha had already entered the study. This was a little
person whose sex could only be divined from his clothes—he
was so delicate, and fair, and frail. His body was as
languid as a hot-house plant and everything about him looked
wonderfully dainty and soft—his movements, his curly
hair, his glance, his velvet tunic.

‘Good evening, papa,’ he said in a gentle voice, climbing on to
his father’s knee and swiftly kissing his neck. ‘Did you
send for me?’

‘Wait a bit, wait a bit, master,’ answered the lawyer, putting
him aside. ‘Before you and I kiss each other we must have
a talk, a serious talk. I am angry with you, and I don’t love you
any more; do you understand that, young man? I don’t
love you, and you are no son of mine.’

Seriozha looked steadfastly at his father and then turned his
regard to the table and shrugged his shoulders.

‘What have I done?’ he asked, perplexed, and blinked. ‘I didn’t
go into your study once today, and I haven’t touched a
thing.’

‘Miss Natalie has just been complaining to me that you have
been smoking; is that so? Have you been smoking?’

‘Yes, I smoked once. That is so.’

‘There! So now you have told a lie into the bargain!’ said the
lawyer, disguising his smile by a frown. ‘Miss Natalie saw

you smoking twice. That means that you have been caught doing
three naughty things: smoking, taking tobacco that
doesn’t belong to you off my table, and telling a lie. Three
accusations!’

Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Great Gatsby. New York: Scribner,
2000. (1925)
From Chapter 3

There was music from my neighbor’s house through the summer
nights. In his blue gardens men and girls came and
went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and
the stars. At high tide in the afternoon I watched
his guests diving from the tower of his raft, or taking the sun on
the hot sand of his beach while his two motorboats
slit the waters of the Sound, drawing aquaplanes over cataracts
of foam. On week ends his Rolls-Royce became an
omnibus, bearing parties to and from the city between nine in
the morning and long past midnight, while his station
wagon scampered like a brisk yellow bug to meet all trains. And
on Mondays eight servants, including an extra gar-
dener, toiled all day with mops and scrubbing brushes and
hammers and garden shears, repairing the ravages of the
night before.

Every Friday five crates of oranges and lemons arrived from a
fruiterer in New York—every Monday these same or-
anges and lemons left his back door in a pyramid of pulpless
halves. There was a machine in the kitchen which could
extract the juice of two hundred oranges in half an hour if a
little button was pressed two hundred times by a butler’s
thumb.

At least once a fortnight a corps of caterers came down with
several hundred feet of canvas and enough colored
lights to make a Christmas tree of Gatsby’s enormous garden.

On buffet tables, garnished with glistening hors
d’oeuvres, spiced baked hams crowded against salads of
harlequin designs and pastry pigs and turkeys bewitched to
a dark gold. In the main hall a bar with a real brass rail was set
up, and stocked with gins and liquors and with cordials
so long forgotten that most of his female guests were too young
to know one from another.

Faulkner, William. As I Lay Dying. New York: Vintage, 1990.
(1930)
From “Darl”

Jewel and I come up from the field, following the path in single
file. Although I am fifteen feet ahead of him, anyone
watching us from the cottonhouse can see Jewel’s frayed and
broken straw hat a full head above my own.

The path runs straight as a plumb-line, worn smooth by feet and
baked brick-hard by July, between the green rows of
laidby cotton, to the cottonhouse at four soft right angles and
goes on across the field again, worn so by feet in fad-
ing precision.

The cottonhouse is of rough logs, from between which the
chinking has long fallen. Square, with a broken roof set at
a single pitch, it leans in empty and shimmering dilapidation in
the sunlight, a single broad window in two opposite
walls giving onto the approaches of the path. When we reach it I
turn and follow the path which circles the house.
Jewel, fifteen feet behind me, looking straight ahead, steps in a
single stride through the window. Still staring straight
ahead, his pale eyes like wood set into his wooden face, he
crosses the floor in four strides with the rigid gravity of

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a cigar store Indian dressed in patched overalls and endued with
life from the hips down, and steps in a single stride
through the opposite window and into the path again just as I
come around the corner. In single file and five feet
apart and Jewel now in front, we go on up the path toward the
foot of the bluff.

Tull’s wagon stands beside the spring, hitched to the rail, the
reins wrapped about the seat stanchion. In the wagon
bed are two chairs. Jewel stops at the spring and takes the gourd
from the willow branch and drinks. I pass him and
mount the path, beginning to hear Cash’s saw.

When I reach the top he has quit sawing. Standing in a litter of
chips, he is fitting two of the boards together. Be-
tween the shadow spaces they are yellow as gold, like soft gold,
bearing on their flanks in smooth undulations the

marks of the adze blade: a good carpenter, Cash is. He holds the
two planks on the trestle, fitted along the edges in
a quarter of the finished box. He kneels and squints along the
edge of them, then he lowers them and takes up the
adze. A good carpenter. Addie Bundren could not want a better
one, a better box to lie in. It will give her confidence
and comfort. I go on to the house, followed by the

Chuck. Chuck. Chuck.

of the adze.

Hemingway, Ernest. A Farewell to Arms. New York: Scribner,
1995. (1929)

Sometimes in the dark we heard the troops marching under the
window and guns going past pulled by motor-trac-
tors. There was much traffic at night and many mules on the
roads with boxes of ammunition on each side of their
pack-saddles and gray motor trucks that carried men, and other
trucks with loads covered with canvas that moved
slower in the traffic. There were big guns too that passed in the
day drawn by tractors, the long barrels of the guns
covered with green branches and green leafy branches and vines
laid over the tractors. To the north we could look
across a valley and see a forest of chestnut trees and behind it
another mountain on this side of the river. There was
fighting for that mountain too, but it was not successful, and in
the fall when the rains came the leaves all fell from the
chestnut trees and the branches were bare and the trunks black
with rain. The vineyards were thin and bare-branched
too and all the country wet and brown and dead with the
autumn. There were mists over the river and clouds on the
mountain and the trucks splashed mud on the road and the
troops were muddy and wet in their capes; their rifles
were wet and under their capes the two leather cartridge-boxes

on the front of the belts, gray leather boxes heavy
with the packs of clips of thin, long 6.5 mm. cartridges, bulged
forward under the capes so that the men, passing on
the road, marched as though they were six months gone with
child.

Hurston, Zora Neale. Their Eyes Were Watching God. New
York: Harper Perennial, 1990. (1937)
From Chapter 1

Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board. For some
they come in with the tide. For others they sail forever
on the horizon, never out of sight, never landing until the
Watcher turns his eyes away in resignation, his dreams
mocked to death by Time. That is the life of men.

Now, women forget all those things they don’t want to
remember, and remember everything they don’t want to for-
get. The dream is the truth. Then they act and do things
accordingly.

So the beginning of this was a woman and she had come back
from burying the dead. Not the dead of sick and ailing
with friends at the pillow and the feet. She had come back from
the sodden and the bloated; the sudden dead, their
eyes flung wide open in judgment.

The people all saw her come because it was sundown. The sun
was gone, but he had left his footprints in the sky. It
was the time for sitting on porches beside the road. It was the
time to hear things and talk. These sitters had been
tongueless, earless, eyeless conveniences all day long. Mules
and other brutes had occupied their skins. But now,
the sun and the bossman were gone, so the skins felt powerful
and human. They became lords of sounds and lesser
things. They passed nations through their mouths. They sat in

judgment.

Seeing the woman as she was made them remember the envy
they had stored up from other times. So they chewed
up the back parts of their minds and swallowed with relish.
They made burning statements with questions, and killing
tools out of laughs. It was mass cruelty. A mood come alive,
Words walking without masters; walking altogether like
harmony in a song.

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Borges, Jorge Luis. “The Garden of Forking Paths.” From
Labyrinths: Selected Stories and Other Writings. New
York: New Directions, 1964. (1941)

“Before unearthing this letter, I had questioned myself about the

ways in which a book can be infinite. I could think of
nothing other than a cyclic volume, a circular one. A book
whose last page was identical with the first, a book which
had the possibility of continuing indefinitely. I remembered too
that night which is at the middle of the Thousand and
One Nights when Scheherazade (through a magical oversight of
the copyist) begins to relate word for word the story
of the Thousand and One Nights, establishing the risk of coming
once again to the night when she must repeat it, and
thus on to infinity. I imagined as well a Platonic, hereditary
work, transmitted from father to son, in which each new
individual adds a chapter or corrects with pious care the pages
of his elders. These conjectures diverted me; but none
seemed to correspond, not even remotely, to the contradictory
chapters of Ts’ui Pen. In the midst of this perplexity, I
received from Oxford the manuscript you have examined. I
lingered, naturally, on the sentence: I leave to the various
futures (not to all) my garden o f forking paths. Almost
instantly, I understood: `the garden of forking paths’ was the
chaotic novel; the phrase `the various futures (not to all)’
suggested to me the forking in time, not in space. A broad
rereading of the work confirmed the theory. In all fictional
works, each time a man is confronted with several alterna-
tives, he chooses one and eliminates the others; in the fiction of
Ts’ui Pen, he chooses simultaneously-all of them. He
creates, in this way, diverse futures, diverse times which
themselves also proliferate and fork. Here, then, is the ex-
planation of the novel’s contradictions. Fang, let us say, has a
secret; a stranger calls at his door; Fang resolves to kill
him. Naturally, there are several possible outcomes: Fang can
kill the intruder, the intruder can kill Fang, they both can
escape, they both can die, and so forth. In the work of Ts’ui
Pen, all possible outcomes occur; each one is the point of
departure for other forkings. Sometimes, the paths of this
labyrinth converge: for example, you arrive at this house,
but in one of the possible pasts you are my enemy, in another,

my friend. If you will resign yourself to my incurable
pronunciation, we shall read a few pages.”

Bellow, Saul. The Adventures of Augie March. New York:
Viking, 1953. (1949)
From Chapter 10

“I haven’t been wasting my time,” he said. “I’ve been working
on something. I think I’m getting married soon,” he said,
and didn’t allow himself to smile with the announcement or
temper it in some pleasant way.

“When? To whom?”

“To a woman with money.”

“A woman? An older woman?” That was how I interpreted it.

“Well, what’s the matter with you? Yes, I’d marry an older
woman. Why not?”

“I bet you wouldn’t.” He was still able to amaze me, as though
we had remained kids.

“We don’t have to argue about it because she’s not old. She’s
about twenty-two, I’m told.”

“By whom? And you haven’t even seen her?”

“No, I haven’t. You remember the buyer, my old boss? He’s
fixing me up. I have her picture. She’s not bad. Heavy—but
I’m getting heavy too. She’s sort of pretty. Anyhow, even if she
weren’t pretty, and if the buyer isn’t lying about the
dough—her family is supposed to have a mountain of dough—
I’d marry her.”

“You’ve already made up your mind?”

“I’ll say I have!”

“And suppose she doesn’t want to marry you?”

“I’ll see that she does. Don’t you think I can?”

“Maybe you can, but I don’t like it. It’s cold-blooded.”

“Cold-blooded!” he said with sudden emotion. “What’s cold-
blooded about it? I’d be cold-blooded if I stayed as I am.
I see around this marriage and beyond it. I’ll never again go for
all the nonsense about marriage. Everybody you lay
eyes on, except perhaps a few like you and me, is born of
marriage. Do you see anything so exceptional or wonderful
about it that it makes it such a big deal? Why be fooling around
to make this perfect great marriage? What’s it going
to save you from? Has it saved anybody—the jerks, the fools,
the morons, the schleppers, the jag-offs, the monkeys,
rats, rabbits, or the decent unhappy people or what you call nice
people? They’re all married or are born of marriages,
so how can you pretend to me that it makes a difference that
Bob loves Mary who loves Jerry? That’s for the movies.
Don’t you see people pondering how to marry for love and
getting the blood gypped out of them? Because while

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they’re looking for the best there is—and I figure that’s what’s
wrong with you—everything else gets lost. It’s sad. It’s a
pity, but it’s that way.”

I was all the same strongly against him; that he saw. Even if I
couldn’t just then consider myself on the active list of
lovers and wasn’t carrying a live torch any more for Esther
Fenchel. I recognized his face as the face of a man in the
wrong.

Morrison, Toni. The Bluest Eye. New York: Random House,
2007. 121–122. (1970)

One winter Pauline discovered she was pregnant. When she told
Cholly, he surprised her by being pleased. He began
to drink less and come home more often. They eased back into a
relationship more like the early days of their mar-
riage, when he asked if she were tired or wanted him to bring
her something from the store. In this state of ease,
Pauline stopped doing day work and returned to her own
housekeeping. But the loneliness in those two rooms had
not gone away. When the winter sun hit the peeling green paint
of the kitchen chairs, when the smoked hocks were
boiling in the pot, when all she could hear was the truck

delivering furniture downstairs, she thought about back
home, about how she had been all alone most of the time then
too, but that this lonesomeness was different. Then
she stopped staring at the green chairs, at the delivery truck; she
went to the movies instead. There in the dark her
memory was refreshed, and she succumbed to her earlier
dreams. Along with the idea of romantic love, she was
introduced to another—physical beauty. Probably the most
destructive ideas in the history of human thought. Both
originated in envy, thrived in insecurity, and ended in
disillusion. In equating physical beauty with virtue, she stripped
her mind, bound it, and collected self-contempt by the heap. She
forgot lust and simple caring for. She regarded love
as possessive mating, and romance as the goal of the spirit. It
would be for her a well-spring from which she would
draw the most destructive emotions, deceiving the lover and
seeking to imprison the beloved, curtailing freedom in
every way.

Garcia, Cristina. Dreaming in Cuban. New York: Random
House, 1993. (1992)
From “The Languages Lost: Six Days in April”

Abuela gives me a box of letters she wrote to her onetime lover
in Spain, but never sent. She shows me his photo-
graph, too. It’s very well preserved. He’d be good-looking by
today’s standards, well built with a full beard and kind
eyes, almost professorial. He wore a crisp linen suit and a
boater tilted slightly to the left. Abuela tells me she took the
picture herself one Sunday on the Malecón,

She also gives me a book of poems she’s had since 1930, we she
heard García Lorca read at the Principal de la Come-
dia Theater. Abuela knows each poem by heart, and recites them
quite dramatically.

I’ve started dreaming in Spanish, which has never happened
before. I wake up feeling different, like something inside
me is changing, something chemical and irreversible. There’s a
magic here working its way through my veins. There’s
something about the vegetation, too, that I respond to
instinctively—the stunning bougainvillea, the flamboyants and
jacarandas, the orchids growing from the trunks of the
mysterious ceiba trees. And I love Havana, its noise and decay
and painted ladyness. I could happily sit on one of those
wrought-iron balconies for days, or keep my grandmother
company on her porch, with its ringside view of the sea. I’m
afraid to lose all this. To lose Abuela Celia again. But I
know that sooner or later I’d have to return to New York. I
know now it’s where I belong—not instead of here, but
more than here. How can I tell my grandmother this?

Media Text
Portal to selected interviews with author Cristina García:
http://www.cristinagarcianovelist.com/index.php?page=selected
interviews

Lahiri, Jhumpa. The Namesake. New York: Houghton Mifflin,
2004. (2003)
From Chapter 5

One day he attends a panel discussion about Indian novels
written in English. He feels obligated to attend; one of
the presenters on the panel, Amit, is a distant cousin who lives
in Bombay, whom Gogol has never met. His mother
has asked him to greet Amit on her behalf. Gogol is bored by
the panelists, who keep referring to something called
“marginality,” as if it were some sort of medical condition. For
most of the hour, he sketches portraits of the panelists,
who sit hunched over their papers along a rectangular table.
“Teleologically speaking, ABCDs are unable to answer
the question ‘Where are you from?’” the sociologist on the

panel declares. Gogol has never heard the term ABCD. He
eventually gathers that it stands for “American-born confused
deshi.” In other words, him. He learns that the C could
also stand for “conflicted.” He knows that deshi, a generic word
for “countryman,” means “Indian,” knows that his
parents and all their friends always refer to India simply as
desh. But Gogol never thinks of India as desh. He thinks of
it as Americans do, as India.

Gogol slouches in his seat and ponders certain awkward truths.
For instance, although he can understand his mother

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tongue, and speak it fluently, he cannot read or write it with
even modest proficiency. On trips to India his American-
accented English is a source of endless amusement to his

relatives, and when he and Sonia speak to each other, aunts
and uncles and cousins always shake their heads in disbelief and
say, “I didn’t understand a word!” Living with a pet
name and a good name, in a place where such distinctions do
not exist—surely that was emblematic of the greatest
confusion of all. He searches the audience for someone he
knows, but it isn’t his crowd—lots of lit majors with leather
satchels and gold-rimmed glasses and fountain pens, lots of
people Ruth would have waved to. There are also lots of
ABCDs. He has no idea there are this many on campus. He has
no ABCD friends at college. He avoids them, for they
remind him too much of the way his parents choose to live,
befriending people not so much because they like them,
but because of a past they happen to share. “Gogol, why aren’t
you a member of the Indian association here?” Amit
asks later when they go for a drink at the Anchor. “I just don’t
have the time,” Gogol says, not telling his well-meaning
cousin that he can think of no greater hypocrisy than joining an
organization that willingly celebrates occasions his
parents forced him, throughout his childhood and adolescence,
to attend. “I’m Nikhil now,” Gogol says, suddenly
depressed by how many more times he will have to say this,
asking people to remember, reminding them to forget,
feeling as if an errata slip were perpetually pinned to his chest.

Drama

Shakespeare, William. The Tragedy of Hamlet. New Haven:
Yale University Press, 2003. (1599)
From Act III, Scene 3

KING CLAUDIUS

O, my offence is rank it smells to heaven;
It hath the primal eldest curse upon’t,
A brother’s murder. Pray can I not,

Though inclination be as sharp as will:
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent;
And, like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother’s blood,
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy
But to confront the visage of offence?
And what’s in prayer but this two-fold force,
To be forestalled ere we come to fall,
Or pardon’d being down? Then I’ll look up;
My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn? ‘Forgive me my foul murder’?
That cannot be; since I am still possess’d
Of those effects for which I did the murder,
My crown, mine own ambition and my queen.
May one be pardon’d and retain the offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world
Offence’s gilded hand may shove by justice,
And oft ‘tis seen the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law: but ‘tis not so above;
There is no shuffling, there the action lies
In his true nature; and we ourselves compell’d,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? what rests?
Try what repentance can: what can it not?
Yet what can it when one can not repent?
O wretched state! O bosom black as death!
O limed soul, that, struggling to be free,
Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay!
Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of steel,
Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe!
All may be well.

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Molière, Jean-Baptiste Poquelin. Tartuffe. The Project
Gutenberg eBook of Tartuffe. Translated by Jeffrey D. Hoeper.
Release Date: April 3, 2009 [eBook #28488] (1664)
From Act III, Scene VI

Orgon. What do I hear? Good God! Is it credible?

Tartuffe. Yes, brother, I’m wicked and culpable,
A sorry sinner, full of iniquity,
As great a wretch as there ever could be.
My entire life has been soiled with evil;
It’s nothing but a mass of sinful upheaval.
And I see that God has, for my punishment,
Chosen to mortify me with this event.
Let them connect any crime with my name;

I waive all defense and take all the blame.
Believe what they tell you, stoke up your wrath,
And drive me like a felon from your path.
The shame that I bear cannot be too great,
For I know I deserve a much worse fate.

Orgon [to his son]. Traitor! Do you dare, by your duplicity,
To taint both his virtue and purity?

Damis. What? Can the false meekness of this hypocrite
Cause you to belie . . .

Orgon. Shut up, you misfit.

Tartuffe. Oh, let him go on. You are wrong to scold,
And you’d be wise to believe the story he’s told.
In light of his claims, why should you favor me?
What do you know of my culpability?
Why put your faith in my exterior?
Why should you think that I’m superior?
No, no, appearances are fooling you,
I am the kind of man you should eschew.
The whole world thinks that I have earned God’s blessing,
But the plain truth is . . . that I’m worth nothing.

Wilde, Oscar. The Importance of Being Earnest. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1999. (1895)
From Act II, Part 2

Cecily [rather shy and confidingly]: Dearest Gwendolen, there
is no reason why I should make a secret of it to you.
Our little county newspaper is sure to chronicle the fact next
week. Mr. Ernest Worthing and I are engaged to be mar-
ried.

Gwendolen [quite politely, rising]: My darling Cecily, I think

there must be some slight error. Mr. Ernest Worthing is
engaged to me. The announcement will appear in the Morning
Post on Saturday at the latest.

Cecily [very politely, rising]: I am afraid you must be under
some misconception. Ernest proposed to me exactly ten
minutes ago. [Shows diary.]

Gwendolen [examines diary through her lorgnettte carefully]: It
is certainly very curious, for he asked me to be his
wife yesterday afternoon at 5.30. If you would care to verify the
incident, pray do so. [Produces diary of her own.] I
never travel without my diary. One should always have
something sensational to read in the train. I am so sorry, dear
Cecily, if it is any disappointment to you, but I am afraid I have
the prior claim.

Cecily: It would distress me more than I can tell you, dear
Gwendolen, if it caused you any mental or physical anguish,
but I feel bound to point out that since Ernest proposed to you
he clearly has changed his mind.

Gwendolen [meditatively]: If the poor fellow has been
entrapped into any foolish promise I shall consider it my duty
to rescue him at once, and with a firm hand.

Cecily [thoughtfully and sadly]: Whatever unfortunate
entanglement my dear boy may have got into, I will never
reproach him with it after we are married.

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Gwendolen: Do you allude to me, Miss Cardew, as an
entanglement? You are presumptuous. On an occasion of this
kind it becomes more than a moral duty to speak one’s mind. It
becomes a pleasure.

Cecily: Do you suggest, Miss Fairfax, that I entrapped Ernest
into an engagement? How dare you? This is no time for
wearing the shallow mask of manners. When I see a spade I call
it a spade.

Gwendolen [satirically]: I am glad to say that I have never seen
a spade. It is obvious that our social spheres have
been widely different.

[Enter Merriman, followed by the footman. He carries a salver,
table cloth, and plate stand. Cecily is about to retort.
The presence of the servants exercises a restraining influence,
under which both girls chafe.]

Merriman: Shall I lay tea here as usual, Miss?

Cecily [sternly, in a calm voice]: Yes, as usual. [Merriman
begins to clear table and lay cloth. A long pause. Cecily and
Gwendolen glare at each other.]

Gwendolen: Are there many interesting walks in the vicinity,
Miss Cardew?

Cecily: Oh! yes! a great many. From the top of one of the hills
quite close one can see five counties.

Gwendolen: Five counties! I don’t think I should like that; I
hate crowds.

Cecily [sweetly]: I suppose that is why you live in town?
[Gwendolen bites her lip, and beats her foot nervously with
her parasol.]

Gwendolen: [Looking round.] Quite a well-kept garden this is,
Miss Cardew.

Cecily: So glad you like it, Miss Fairfax.

Gwendolen: I had no idea there were any flowers in the country.

Cecily: Oh, flowers are as common here, Miss Fairfax, as
people are in London.

Gwendolen: Personally I cannot understand how anybody
manages to exist in the country, if anybody who is anybody
does. The country always bores me to death.

Cecily: Ah! This is what the newspapers call agricultural
depression, is it not? I believe the aristocracy are suffering
very much from it just at present. It is almost an epidemic
amongst them, I have been told. May I offer you some tea,
Miss Fairfax?

Gwendolen [with elaborate politeness]: Thank you. [Aside.]
Detestable girl! But I require tea!

Cecily [sweetly]: Sugar?

Gwendolen [superciliously]: No, thank you. Sugar is not
fashionable any more. [Cecily looks angrily at her, takes up
the tongs and puts four lumps of sugar into the cup.]

Cecily [severely]: Cake or bread and butter?

Gwendolen [in a bored manner]: Bread and butter, please. Cake
is rarely seen at the best houses nowadays.

Cecily [cuts a very large slice of cake, and puts it on the tray]:
Hand that to Miss Fairfax.

[Merriman does so, and goes out with footman. Gwendolen
drinks the tea and makes a grimace. Puts down cup at
once, reaches out her hand to the bread and butter, looks at it,
and finds it is cake. Rises in indignation.]

Gwendolen: You have filled my tea with lumps of sugar, and
though I asked most distinctly for bread and butter, you
have given me cake. I am known for the gentleness of my
disposition, and the extraordinary sweetness of my nature,
but I warn you, Miss Cardew, you may go too far.

Cecily [rising]: To save my poor, innocent, trusting boy from
the machinations of any other girl there are no lengths to
which I would not go.

Gwendolen: From the moment I saw you I distrusted you. I felt
that you were false and deceitful. I am never deceived
in such matters. My first impressions of people are invariably

right.

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Cecily: It seems to me, Miss Fairfax, that I am trespassing on
your valuable time. No doubt you have many other calls
of a similar character to make in the neighbourhood.

Wilder, Thornton. Our Town: A Play in Three Acts. New York:
Perennial, 2003. (1938)

Emily: (softly, more in wonder than in grief) I can’t bear it.
They’re so young and beautiful. Why did they ever have
to get old? Mama, I’m here. I’m grown up. I love you all,
everything.— I cant look at everything hard enough. (pause,
talking to her mother who does not hear her. She speaks with
mounting urgency) Oh, Mama, just look at me one min-

ute as though you really saw me. Mama, fourteen years have
gone by. I’m dead. You’re a grandmother, Mama. I mar-
ried George Gibbs, Mama. Wally’s dead, too. Mama, his
appendix burst on a camping trip to North Conway. We felt
just terrible about it - don’t you remember? But, just for a
moment now we’re all together. Mama, just for a moment
we’re happy. Let’s look at one another. (pause, looking
desperate because she has received no answer. She speaks in
a loud voice, forcing herself to not look at her mother) I can’t. I
can’t go on. It goes so fast. We don’t have time to look
at one another. (she breaks down sobbing, she looks around) I
didn’t realize. All that was going on in life and we never
noticed. Take me back - up the hill - to my grave. But first:
Wait! One more look. Good-by, Good-by, world. Good-by,
Grover’s Corners? Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking?
and Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And
new-ironed dresses and hot baths? and sleeping and waking up.
Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to real-
ize you. (she asks abruptly through her tears) Do any human
beings ever realize life while they live it? - every, every
minute? (she sighs) I’m ready to go back. I should have listened
to you. That’s all human beings are! Just blind people.

Miller, Arthur. Death of a Salesman. New York: Viking, 1996.
(1949)
From Act II

Willy: Oh, yeah, my father lived many years in Alaska. He was
an adventurous man. We’ve got quite a little streak of
self-reliance in our family. I thought I’d go out with my older
brother and try to locate him, and maybe settle in the
North with the old man. And I was almost decided to go, when I
met a salesman in the Parker House. His name was
Dave Singleman. And he was eighty-four years old, and he’d
drummed merchandise in thirty-one states. And old
Dave, he’d go up to his room, y’understand, put on his green

velvet slippers—I’ll never forget—and pick up his phone
and call the buyers, and without ever leaving is room, at the age
of eighty-four, he made his living. And when I saw
that, I realized that selling was the greatest career a man could
want. ‘Cause what could be more satisfying than to be
able to go, at the age of eighty-four, into twenty or thirty
different cities, and pick up a phone, and be remembered
and loved and helped by so many different people? Do you
know? When he died—and by the way he died the death
of a salesman, in his green velvet slippers in the smoker of the
New York, New Haven and Hartford, going into Bos-
ton—when he died, hundreds of salesmen and buyers were at his
funeral. Things were sad on a lotta trains for months
after that. He stands up. Howard has not looked at him. In those
days there was personality in it, Howard. There was
respect, and comradeship, and gratitude in it. Today, it’s all cut
and dried, and there’s no chance for bringing friend-
ship to bear—or personality. You see what I mean? They don’t
know me anymore.

Hansberry, Lorraine. A Raisin in the Sun. New York: Vintage,
1994. (1959)
From Act III

BENEATHA: He’s no brother of mine.

MAMA: What you say?

BENEATHA: I said that that individual is that room is no
brother of mine.

MAMA: That’s what I thought you said. You feeling like you
better than he is today? [BENEATHA does not answer.]
Yes? What you tell him a minute ago? That he wasn’t a man?
Yes? You give him up for me? You done wrote his epi-
taph too—like the rest of the world? Well who give you the

privilege?

BENEATHA: Be on my side for once! You say what he just did,
Mama! You saw him—down on his knees. Wasn’t it you
who taught me—to despise any man who would do that. Do
what he’s going to do.

MAMA: Yes—I taught you that. Me and your daddy. But I
thought I taught you something else too…I thought I taught
you to love him.

BENEATHA: Love him? There is nothing left to love.

MAMA: There is always something left to love. And if you ain’t
learned that you ain’t learned nothing. [Looking at her.]
Have you cried for that boy today? I don’t mean for yourself
and for the family ‘cause we lost the money. I mean for
him; what he been through and what it done to him. Child, when
do you think is the time to love somebody the most;
when they done good and made things easy for everybody? Well
then, you ain’t through learning—because that ain’t
the time at all. It’s when he’s at him lowest and can’t believe in
hisself ‘cause the world done whipped him so. When

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you starts measuring somebody, measure him right, child,
measure him right. Make sure you done taken into account
what hills and valleys he come through before he got to
wherever he is.

Soyinka, Wole. Death and the King’s Horseman: A Play. New
York: W. W. Norton, 2002. (1976)
From Act I, Scene 1

ELESIN:
Where the storm pleases, and when, it directs
The giants of the forest. When friendship summons
Is when the true comrade goes.

WOMEN:
Nothing will hold you back?

ELESIN:
Nothing. What! Has no one told you yet?
I go to keep my friend and master company.
Who says the mouth does not believe in
‘No, I have chewed all that before?’ I say I have.
The world is not a constant honey-pot.

Poetry

Li Po. “A Poem of Changgan.” The Jade Mountain: A Chinese

Anthology. Translated by Witter Bynner. New York:
Knopf, 1929. (circa 700)

My hair had hardly covered my forehead.
I was picking flowers, playing by my door,
When you, my lover, on a bamboo horse,
Came trotting in circles and throwing green plums.
We lived near together on a lane in Ch’ang-kan,
Both of us young and happy-hearted.

...At fourteen I became your wife,
So bashful that I dared not smile,
And I lowered my head toward a dark corner
And would not turn to your thousand calls;
But at fifteen I straightened my brows and laughed,
Learning that no dust could ever seal our love,
That even unto death I would await you by my post
And would never lose heart in the tower of silent watching.

...Then when I was sixteen, you left on a long journey
Through the Gorges of Ch’u-t’ang, of rock and whirling water.
And then came the Fifth-month, more than I could bear,
And I tried to hear the monkeys in your lofty far-off sky.
Your footprints by our door, where I had watched you go,
Were hidden, every one of them, under green moss,
Hidden under moss too deep to sweep away.
And the first autumn wind added fallen leaves.
And now, in the Eighth-month, yellowing butterflies
Hover, two by two, in our west-garden grasses
And, because of all this, my heart is breaking
And I fear for my bright cheeks, lest they fade.

...Oh, at last, when you return through the three Pa districts,
Send me a message home ahead!
And I will come and meet you and will never mind the distance,
All the way to Chang-feng Sha.

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Donne, John. “A Valediction Forbidding Mourning.” The
Complete Poetry of John Donne. Edited by John T.
Shawcross. New York: Anchor Books, 1967. (1633)

As virtuous men pass mildly’ away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, no;

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear floods, nor sigh-tempests move,
‘Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers’ love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.

But we by’ a love so much refined
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th’ other do.

And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must
Like th’ other foot, obliquely run.
Thy firmness makes my circle just.
And makes me end where I begun.

Wheatley, Phyllis. “On Being Brought From Africa to

America.” New Anthology of American Poetry: Traditions and
Revolutions, Beginnings to 1900 (Vol 1). Edited by Steven
Gould Axelrod, Camille Roman, and Thomas J. Travisano.
Piscataway, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 2003. (1773)

‘Twas mercy brought me from my Pagan land,
Taught my benighted soul to understand
That there’s a God, that there’s a Saviour too:
Once I redemption neither sought nor knew.
Some view our sable race with scornful eye,
“Their colour is a diabolic die.”
Remember, Christians, Negros, black as Cain,
May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train.

Keats, John. “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” The Complete Poems of
John Keats. New York: Modern Library, 1994. (1820)

Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,

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Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e’er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st,
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,”—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

Whitman, Walt. “Song of Myself.” Leaves of Grass. Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1990. (c1860)
From “Song of Myself” 1

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this
air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their

parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,

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Hoping to cease not till death.

Creeds and schools in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never
forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.

Dickinson, Emily. “Because I Could Not Stop for Death.” The
Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. Boston: Little,
Brown, 1960. (1890)

Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.

We slowly drove—He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess—in the Ring—
We passed the Fields of Grazing Grain—
We passed the Setting Sun—

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground—
The Room was scarcely visible—
The Cornice—in the Ground—

Since then—’tis Centuries—and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity—

Tagore, Rabindranath. “Song VII.” The Complete Text of
Rabindranath Tagore’s Gitanjali: Text and Critical
Evaluation by S. K. Paul. Translated by Rabindranath Tagore.
New Dehli: Sarup and Sons, 2006. (1913)

My song has put off her adornments.
She has no pride of dress and decoration.
Ornaments would mar our union;
they would come between thee and me;
their jingling would drown thy whispers.

My poet’s vanity dies in shame before thy sight.
O master poet, I have sat down at thy feet.
Only let me make my life simple and straight,
like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.

Eliot, T. S. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” T. S. Eliot:
The Complete Poems and Plays, 1909–1950. Orlando:
Harcourt Brace & Company, 1952. (1917)

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

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Pound, Ezra. “The River Merchant’s Wife: A Letter.” Anthology
of Modern American Poetry. Edited by Cary Nelson.
New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. (1917)

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse;
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.

At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the lookout?

At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.
You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.

The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden --
They hurt me.
I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fo-Sa.

Frost, Robert. “Mending Wall.” The Complete Poems of Robert
Frost. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1949.
(1914)

SOMETHING there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
“Stay where you are until our backs are turned!”
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
He is all pine and I am apple-orchard.

My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbors.”

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Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbors? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down!” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there,

Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.”

Media Text
The Frost Free Library, with essays, interviews, and audio:
http://www.frostfriends.org/library.html

Neruda, Pablo. “Ode to My Suit.” Translated by Margaret
Sayers Peden. Selected Odes of Pablo Neruda. Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1990. (1954)

Bishop, Elizabeth. “Sestina.” The Complete Poems of Elizabeth
Bishop, 1927–1979. New York: Farrar, Straus and
Giroux, 1983. (1965)

Ortiz Cofer, Judith. “The Latin Deli: An Ars Poetica.” The
Latin Deli: Telling the Lives of Barrio Women. New York:
Norton, 1995. (1988)

Presiding over a formica counter,
Plastic Mother and Child magnetized
to the top of an ancient register,
the heady mix of smells from the open bins
of dried codfish, the green plantains
hanging in stalks like votive offerings,
she is the Patroness of Exiles,
a woman of no-age who was never pretty,
who spends her days selling canned memories
while listening to the Puerto Ricans complain
that it would be cheaper to fly to San Juan
than to by a pound of Bustelo coffee here,

and to the Cubans perfecting their speech
of a “glorious return” to Havana—where no one
has been allowed to die and nothing to change until then;
to Mexicans who pass through, talking lyrically
of dólares to be made in El Norte—
all wanting the comfort
of spoken Spanish, to gaze upon the family portrait
of her plain wide face, her ample bosom
resting on her plump arms, her look of maternal interest
as they speak to her and each other
of their dreams and their disillusions—
how she smiles understanding,
when they walk down the narrow aisles of her store
reading the labels of the packages aloud, s if
they were the names of lost lovers: Suspiros,
Merengues, the stale candy of everyone’s childhood.
She spends her days
Slicing jamón y queso and wrapping it in wax paper
tied with string: plain ham and cheese
that would cost less at the A&P, but it would not satisfy
the hunger of the fragile old man lost in the folds

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of his winter coat, who brings her lists of items
that he reads to her like poetry, or the others,
whose needs she must divine, conjuring up products
from places that now exist only in their hearts—
closed ports she must trade with.

“The Latin Deli: An Ars Poetica” by Judith Ortiz Cofer is
reprinted with permission from the publisher (© Arte Público
press - University of Houston).

Dove, Rita. “Demeter’s Prayer to Hades.” Mother Love: Poems.
New York: Norton, 1996. (1995)

This alone is what I wish for you: knowledge.
To understand each desire has an edge,
To know we are responsible for the lives
we change. No faith comes without cost,
no one believes without dying.
Now for the first time
I see clearly the trail you planted,
What ground opened to waste,
though you dreaded a wealth
of flowers.
There are no curses—only mirrors
held up to the souls of gods and mortals.
And so I give up this fate, too.
Believe in yourself,
go ahead—see where it gets you.

“Demeter’s Prayer to Hades,” from MOTHER LOVE by Rita
Dove. Copyright © 1995 by Rita Dove. Used by permission of
W.W. Norton & Company, Inc.

Collins, Billy. “Man Listening to Disc.” Sailing Alone Around
the Room. New York: Random House, 2001. (2001)

Sample Performance Tasks for Stories, Drama, and Poetry

• Students analyze the first impressions given of Mr. and
Mrs. Bennet in the opening chapter of Pride and Preju-
dice based on the setting and how the characters are introduced.
By comparing these first impressions with
their later understanding based on how the action is ordered and
the characters develop over the course of
the novel, students understand the impact of Jane Austen’s
choices in relating elements of a story. [RL.11–12.3]

• Students compare and contrast how the protagonists of
Herman Melville’s Billy Budd and Nathaniel Haw-
thorne’s Scarlet Letter maintain their integrity when confronting
authority, and they relate their analysis of that
theme to other portrayals in nineteenth- and early-twentieth-
century foundational works of American literature
they have read. [RL.11–12.9]

• Students analyze how Anton Chekhov’s choice of
structuring his story “Home” by beginning in “midstream”
shapes the meaning of the text and contributes to its overall
narrative arc. [RL.11–12.5]

• Students provide an objective summary of F. Scott’s
Fitzgerald’s Great Gatsby wherein they analyze how over
the course of the text different characters try to escape the
worlds they come from, including whose help they
get and whether anybody succeeds in escaping. [RL.11–12.2]

• Students analyze Miguel de Cervantes’s Don Quixote and
Jean-Baptiste Poquelin Molière’s Tartuffe for how
what is directly stated in a text differs from what is really
meant, comparing and contrasting the point of view
adopted by the protagonist in each work. [RL.11–12.6]

• Students compare two or more recorded or live
productions of Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman to the
written text, evaluating how each version interprets the source
text and debating which aspects of the enacted
interpretations of the play best capture a particular character,
scene, or theme. [RL.11–12.7]

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• Students compare and contrast the figurative and

connotative meanings as well as specific word choices in
John Donne’s “Valediction Forbidding Mourning” and Emily
Dickinson’s “Because I Would Not Stop for Death”
in order to determine how the metaphors of the carriage and the
compass shape the meaning and tone of
each poem. Students analyze the ways both poets use language
that is particularly fresh, engaging, or beauti-
ful to convey the multiple meanings regarding death contained
in each poem. [RL.11–12.4]

• Students cite strong and thorough textual evidence from
John Keats’s “Ode on a Grecian Urn” to support their
analysis of what the poem says explicitly about the urn as well
as what can be inferred about the urn from
evidence in the poem. Based on their close reading, students
draw inferences from the text regarding what
meanings the figures decorating the urn convey as well as
noting where the poem leaves matters about the
urn and its decoration uncertain. [RL.11–12.1]

Informational Texts: English Language Arts

Paine, Thomas. Common Sense. New York: Penguin, 2005.
(1776)

A government of our own is our natural right: And when a man
seriously reflects on the precariousness of human
affairs, he will become convinced, that it is infinitely wiser and
safer, to form a constitution of our own in a cool
deliberate manner, while we have it in our power, than to trust
such an interesting event to time and chance. If we
omit it now, some Massenello* may hereafter arise, who laying
hold of popular disquietudes, may collect together the
desperate and the discontented, and by assuming to themselves
the powers of government, may sweep away the
liberties of the continent like a deluge. Should the government

of America return again into the hands of Britain, the
tottering situation of things, will be a temptation for some
desperate adventurer to try his fortune; and in such a case,
what relief can Britain give? Ere she could hear the news the
fatal business might be done, and ourselves suffering like
the wretched Britons under the oppression of the Conqueror. Ye
that oppose independence now, ye know not what
ye do; ye are opening a door to eternal tyranny, by keeping
vacant the seat of government.

(*Thomas Anello, otherwise Massenello, a fisherman of Naples,
who after spiriting up his countrymen in the public
market place, against the oppression of the Spaniards, to whom
the place was then subject, prompted them to revolt,
and in the space of a day became king.)

Jefferson, Thomas. The Declaration of Independence. (1776)

IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of
America

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for
one people to dissolve the political bands which have
connected them with another, and to assume, among the Powers
of the earth, the separate and equal station to which
the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent
respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they
should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created
equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with
certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty,
and the pursuit of Happiness.—That to secure these
rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their

just powers from the consent of the governed,—That
whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of
these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to
abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its
foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in
such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their
Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that
Governments long established should not be changed for light
and transient causes; and accordingly all experience
hath shown, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while
evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolish-
ing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long
train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the
same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute
Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off
such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future
security.—Such has been the patient sufferance of these
Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them
to alter their former Systems of Government. The his-
tory of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated
injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the
establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To
prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and
necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate
and pressing importance, unless suspended in their
operation till his

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Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has
utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of
large districts of people, unless those people would
relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right
inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual,
uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of
their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into
compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for
opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights
of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to
cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative
Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People

at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the
mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without,
and convulsions within.

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these
States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws of Natural-
ization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their
migration hither, and raising the conditions of new
Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing
his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers.

He has made judges dependent on his Will alone, for the
tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of
their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither
swarms of Officers to harass our People, and eat out
their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies
without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and
superior to the Civil Power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction
foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by
our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended
legislation:

For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:

For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from Punishment for
any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabit-

ants of these States:

For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:

For imposing taxes on us without our Consent:

For depriving us, in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by
Jury:

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended
offences:

For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a
neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary
government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at
once an example and fit instrument for introducing the
same absolute rule into these Colonies:

For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable
Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our
Governments:

For suspending our own Legislatures and declaring
themselves invested with Power to legislate for us in all cases
whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of
his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our
towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large armies of foreign
mercenaries to complete the works of death, desolation and
tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy
scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and

totally unworthy of the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the
high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to be-

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come the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall
themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has
endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our fron-
tiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of
warfare is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes
and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for

Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions
have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince, whose
character is thus marked by every act which may define
a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free People.

Nor have We been wanting in attention to our British brethren.
We have warned them from time to time of attempts
by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over
us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of
our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their
native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured
them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these
usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connec-
tions and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice
of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore,
acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and
hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies
in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the United States of
America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the
Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions,
do, in the Name, and by the Authority of the good
People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That
these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free
and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all
Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connec-
tion between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought
to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Indepen-
dent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace,
contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all
other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right
do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm
reliance on the Protection of Divine Providence, we mutually
pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our
sacred Honor.

United States. The Bill of Rights (Amendments One through
Ten of the United States Constitution). (1791)

Amendment I

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of
religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridg-
ing the freedom of speech, or of the press, or the right of the
people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the
Government for a redress of grievances.

Amendment II

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a
free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms,
shall not be infringed.

Amendment III

No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house,
without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but
in a manner to be prescribed by law.

Amendment IV

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses,
papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and
seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but
upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirma-
tion, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and
the persons or things to be seized.

Amendment V

No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise

infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment
of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval
forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of
War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the
same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb,
nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness
against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property,
without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken
for public use, without just compensation.

Amendment VI

In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to
a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the
State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed;
which district shall have been previously ascertained
by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the
accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against
him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his
favor, and to have the assistance of counsel for his
defence.

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Amendment VII

In Suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall
exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be
preserved, and no fact tried by a jury shall be otherwise re-
examined in any Court of the United States, than accord-
ing to the rules of the common law.

Amendment VIII

Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines
imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.

Amendment IX

The enumeration in the Constitution of certain rights shall not
be construed to deny or disparage others retained by
the people.

Amendment X

The powers not delegated to the United States by the
Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to
the States respectively, or to the people.

Thoreau, Henry David. Walden; or, Life in the Woods. Boston:
Houghton, 1893. (1854)

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to

front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not
learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover
that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was
not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation,
unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and
suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-
like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad
swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it
to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why
then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish
its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to
know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in
my next excursion. For most men, it appears to me,
are in a strange uncertainty about it, whether it is of the devil or
of God, and have somewhat hastily concluded that it
is the chief end of man here to “glorify God and enjoy him
forever.”

Emerson, Ralph Waldo. “Society and Solitude.” Essays and
Poems. New York: Library of America, 1996. (1857)

‘Tis hard to mesmerize ourselves, to whip our own top; but
through sympathy we are capable of energy and endur-
ance. Concert fires people to a certain fury of performance they
can rarely reach alone. Here is the use of society: it is
so easy with the great to be great; so easy to come up to an
existing standard;—as easy as it is to the lover to swim to
his maiden through waves so grim before. The benefits of
affection are immense; and the one event which never loses
its romance, is the encounter with superior persons on terms
allowing the happiest intercourse.

It by no means follows that we are not fit for society, because
soirées are tedious, and because the soirée finds us
tedious. A backwoodsman, who had been sent to the university,
told me that, when he heard the best-bred young

men at the law school talk together, he reckoned himself a boor;
but whenever he caught them apart, and had one to
himself alone, then they were the boors, and he the better man.
And if we recall the rare hours when we encountered
the best persons, we then found ourselves, and then first society
seemed to exist. That was society, though in the
transom of a brig, or on the Florida Keys.

A cold, sluggish blood thinks it has not facts enough to the
purpose, and must decline its turn in the conversation.
But they who speak have no more,—have less. ‘Tis not new
facts that avail, but the heat to dissolve everybody’s facts.
The capital defect of cold, arid natures is the want of animal
spirits. They seem a power incredible, as if God should
raise the dead. The recluse witnesses what others perform by
their aid, with a kind of fear. It is as much out of his
possibility as the prowess of Cœur-de-Lion, or an Irishman’s
day’s-work on the railroad. ‘Tis said, the present and the
future are always rivals. Animal spirits constitute the power of
the present, and their feats are like the structure of a
pyramid. Their result is a lord, a general, or a boon companion.
Before these, what a base mendicant is Memory with
his leathern badge! But this genial heat is latent in all
constitutions, and is disengaged only by the friction of society.
As Bacon said of manners, “To obtain them, it only needs not to
despise them,” so we say of animal spirits, that they
are the spontaneous product of health and of a social habit. “For
behavior, men learn it, as they take diseases, one of
another.”

But the people are to be taken in very small doses. If solitude is
proud, so is society vulgar. In society, high advan-
tages are set down to the individual as disqualifications. We
sink as easily as we rise, through sympathy. So many men
whom I know are degraded by their sympathies, their native
aims being high enough, but their relation all too tender

to the gross people about them. Men cannot afford to live
together by their merits, and they adjust themselves by
their demerits,—by their love of gossip, or by sheer tolerance
and animal good-nature. They untune and dissipate the
brave aspirant.

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The remedy is, to reinforce each of these moods from the other.
Conversation will not corrupt us, if we come to the
assembly in our own garb and speech, and with the energy of
health to select what is ours and reject what is not.
Society we must have; but let it be society, and not exchanging
news, or eating from the same dish. Is it society to sit
in one of your chairs? I cannot go into the houses of my nearest
relatives, because I do not wish to be alone. Society
exists by chemical affinity, and not otherwise.

Put any company of people together with freedom for
conversation, and a rapid self-distribution takes place, into
sets and pairs. The best are accused of exclusiveness. It would
be more true to say, they separate as oil from water,
as children from old people, without love or hatred in the
matter, each seeking his like; and any interference with the
affinities would produce constraint and suffocation. All
conversation is a magnetic experiment. I know that my friend
can talk eloquently; you know that he cannot articulate a
sentence: we have seen him in different company. Assort
your party, or invite none. Put Stubbs and Coleridge, Quintilian
and Aunt Miriam, into pairs, and you make them all
wretched. ‘Tis an extempore Sing-Sing built in a parlor. Leave
them to seek their own mates, and they will be as merry
as sparrows.

A higher civility will re-establish in our customs a certain
reverence which we have lost. What to do with these brisk
young men who break through all fences, and make themselves
at home in every house? I find out in an instant if my
companion does not want me, and ropes cannot hold me when
my welcome is gone. One would think that the affini-
ties would pronounce themselves with a surer reciprocity.

Here again, as so often, Nature delights to put us between
extreme antagonisms, and our safety is in the skill with
which we keep the diagonal line. Solitude is impracticable, and
society fatal. We must keep our head in the one and
our hands in the other. The conditions are met, if we keep our
independence, yet do not lose our sympathy. These
wonderful horses need to be driven by fine hands. We require
such a solitude as shall hold us to its revelations when
we are in the street and in palaces; for most men are cowed in
society, and say good things to you in private, but will
not stand to them in public. But let us not be the victims of

words. Society and solitude are deceptive names. It is not
the circumstance of seeing more or fewer people, but the
readiness of sympathy, that imports; and a sound mind will
derive its principles from insight, with ever a purer ascent to the
sufficient and absolute right, and will accept society
as the natural element in which they are to be applied.

Porter, Horace. “Lee Surrenders to Grant, April 9th, 1865.”
Eyewitness to America: 500 Years of American History in
the Words of Those Who Saw It Happen. Edited by David
Colbert. New York: Vintage, 1998. (1865)
From “Lee Surrenders to Grant, April 9th, 1865”

When Lee came to the sentence about the officers’ side-arms,
private horses & baggage, he showed for the first time
during the reading of the letter a slight change of countenance
& was evidently touched by this act of generosity. It
was doubtless the condition mentioned to which he particularly
alluded when he looked toward General Grant, as he
finished reading & said with some degree of warmth in his
manner, ‘This will have a very happy effect upon my army.’”

General Grant then said: “Unless you have some suggestions to
make in regard to the form in which I have stated the
terms, I will have a copy of the letter made in ink, and sign it.”

“There is one thing I should like to mention,” Lee replied, after
a short pause. “The cavalrymen and artillerists own
their own horses in our army. Its organization in this respect
differs from that of the United States.” This expression
attracted the notice of our officers present, as showing how
firmly the conviction was grounded in his mind that we
were two distinct countries. He continued: “I should like to
understand whether these men will be permitted to retain
their horses.”

“You will find that the terms as written do not allow this,”
General Grant replied; “only the officers are permitted to
take their private property.”

Lee read over the second page of the letter again, and then said:
“No, I see the terms do not allow it; that is clear.”
His face showed plainly that he was quite anxious to have this
concession made; and Grant said very promptly, and
without giving Lee time to make a direct request:

“Well, the subject is quite new to me. Of course I did not know
that any private soldiers owned their animals; but I
think we have fought the last battle of the war,—I sincerely
hope so,—and that the surrender of this army will be fol-
lowed soon by that of all the others; and I take it that most of
the men in the ranks are small farmers, and as the coun-
try has been so raided by the two armies, it is doubtful whether
they will be able to put in a crop to carry themselves
and their families through the next winter without the aid of the
horses they are now riding, and I will arrange it in this
way: I will not change the terms as now written, but I will
instruct the officers I shall appoint to receive the paroles to
let all the men who claim to own a horse or mule take the
animals home with them to work their little farms.”

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Chesterton, G. K. “The Fallacy of Success.” Selected Essays.
London: Methuen, 1949. (1909)

There has appeared in our time a particular class of books and
articles which I sincerely and solemnly think may be
called the silliest ever known among men. They are much more
wild than the wildest romances of chivalry and much
more dull than the dullest religious tract. Moreover, the
romances of chivalry were at least about chivalry; the reli-
gious tracts are about religion. But these things are about
nothing; they are about what is called Success. On every
bookstall, in every magazine, you may find works telling people
how to succeed. They are books showing men how to
succeed in everything; they are written by men who cannot even
succeed in writing books. To begin with, of course,
there is no such thing as Success. Or, if you like to put it so,
there is nothing that is not successful. That a thing is suc-
cessful merely means that it is; a millionaire is successful in
being a millionaire and a donkey in being a donkey. Any
live man has succeeded in living; any dead man may have
succeeded in committing suicide. But, passing over the
bad logic and bad philosophy in the phrase, we may take it, as
these writers do, in the ordinary sense of success in
obtaining money or worldly position. These writers profess to
tell the ordinary man how he may succeed in his trade
or speculation—how, if he is a builder, he may succeed as a

builder; how, if he is a stockbroker, he may succeed as a
stockbroker. They profess to show him how, if he is a grocer, he
may become a sporting yachtsman; how, if he is a
tenth-rate journalist, he may become a peer; and how, if he is a
German Jew, he may become an Anglo-Saxon. This
is a definite and business-like proposal, and I really think that
the people who buy these books (if any people do buy
them) have a moral, if not a legal, right to ask for their money
back. Nobody would dare to publish a book about elec-
tricity which literally told one nothing about electricity; no one
would dare publish an article on botany which showed
that the writer did not know which end of a plant grew in the
earth. Yet our modern world is full of books about Suc-
cess and successful people which literally contain no kind of
idea, and scarcely and kind of verbal sense.

It is perfectly obvious that in any decent occupation (such as
bricklaying or writing books) there are only two ways (in
any special sense) of succeeding. One is by doing very good
work, the other is by cheating. Both are much too simple
to require any literary explanation. If you are in for the high
jump, either jump higher than any one else, or manage
somehow to pretend that you have done so. If you want to
succeed at whist, either be a good whist-player, or play
with marked cards. You may want a book about jumping; you
may want a book about whist; you may want a book
about cheating at whist. But you cannot want a book about
Success. Especially you cannot want a book about Suc-
cess such as those which you can now find scattered by the
hundred about the book-market. You may want to jump
or to play cards; but you do not want to read wandering
statements to the effect that jumping is jumping, or that
games are won by winners. If these writers, for instance, said
anything about success in jumping it would be some-
thing like this: ‘The jumper must have a clear aim before him.
He must desire definitely to jump higher than the other

men who are in for the same competition. He must let no feeble
feelings of mercy (sneaked from the sickening Little
Englanders and Pro-Boers) prevent him from trying to do his
best. He must remember that a competition in jumping
is distinctly competitive, and that, as Darwin has gloriously
demonstrated, THE WEAKEST GO TO THE WALL.’ That is
the kind of thing the book would say, and very useful it would
be, no doubt, if read out in a low and tense voice to a
young man just about to take the high jump. Or suppose that in
the course of his intellectual rambles the philosopher
of Success dropped upon our other case, that of playing cards,
his bracing advice would run—’In playing cards it is
very necessary to avoid the mistake (commonly made by
maudlin humanitarians and Free Traders) of permitting your
opponent to win the game. You must have grit and snap and go
in to win. The days of idealism and superstition are
over. We live in a time of science and hard common sense, and
it has now been definitely proved that in any game
where two are playing IF ONE DOES NOT WIN THE OTHER
WILL.’ It is all very stirring, of course; but I confess that if I
were playing cards I would rather have some decent little book
which told me the rules of the game. Beyond the rules
of the game it is all a question either of talent or dishonesty;
and I will undertake to provide either one or the other—
which, it is not for me to say.

Mencken, H. L. The American Language, 4th Edition. New
York: Knopf, 1938. (1938)
From Chapter XI: “American Slang,” Section I: “The Nature of
Slang”

What chiefly lies behind (slang) is simply a kind of linguistic
exuberance, an excess of word-making energy. It relates
itself to the standard language a great deal as dancing relates
itself to music. But there is also something else. The
best slang is not only ingenious and amusing; it also embodies a

kind of social criticism. It not only provides new
names for a series of every-day concepts, some new and some
old; it also says something about them. “Words which
produce the slang effect,” observes Frank Sechrist, “arouse
associations what are incongruous or incompatible with
those of customary thinking.”

Everyone, including the metaphysician in his study or the
eremite in his cell, has a large vocabulary of slang, but the
vocabulary of the vulgar is likely to be larger than that of the
cultured, and it is harder worked. Its content may be di-
vided into two categories: (a) old words, whether used singly or
in combination, that have been put to new uses, usu-
ally metaphorical, and (b) new words that have not yet been
admitted to the standard vocabulary. Examples of the
first type are rubberneck, for a gaping and prying person, and
iceberg, for a cold woman; examples of the second are
hoosegow, flim-flam, blurb, bazoo and blah. There is a constant
movement of slang into accepted usage. Nice, as an
adjective of all work, signifying anything satisfactory, was once
used in slang only, but today no one would question “a
nice day,” “a nice time,” or “a nice hotel.”…The verb-phrase to
hold up is now perfectly good American, but so recently
as 1901 the late Brander Matthews was sneering at it as slang.
In the same way many other verb-phrases, e.g., to cave
in, fill the bill and to fly off the handle, once viewed askance,
have gradually worked their way to a relatively high level
of the standard speech. On some indeterminate tomorrow to
stick up and to take for a ride may follow them.

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Wright, Richard. Black Boy. New York: Harper Perennial,
1998. (1945)
From Part One: Southern Night

That night in my rented room, while letting the hot water run
over my can of pork and beans in the sink, I opened
A Book of Prefaces and began to read. I was jarred and shocked
by the style, the clear, clean, sweeping sentences.
Why did he write like that? And how did one write like that? I
pictured the man as a raging demon, slashing with his
pen, consumed with hate, denouncing everything American,
extolling everything European or German, laughing at
the weakness of people, mocking God, authority. What was
this? I stood up, trying to realize what reality lay behind
the meaning of the words…Yes, this man was fighting, fighting
with words. He was using words as a weapon, using
them as one would use a club. Could words be weapons? Well,
yes, for here they were. Then maybe, perhaps, I could
use them as a weapon? No. It frightened me. I read on and what
amazed me was not what he said, but how on earth
anybody had the courage to say it.

Occasionally I glance up to reassure myself that I was alone in
the room. Who were these men about whom Mencken
was talking so passionately? Who was Anatole France? Joseph
Conrad? Sinclair Lewis, Sherwood Anderson, Dos-
toevski, George Moore, Gustave Flaubert, Maupassant, Tolstoy,
Frank Harris, Mark Twain, Thomas Hardy, Arnold Ben-
nett, Stephen Crane, Zola, Norris, Gorky, Bergson, Ibsen,
Balzac, Bernard Shaw, Dumas, Poe, Thomas Mann, O. Henry,
Dreiser, H.G. Wells, Gogol, T.S. Eliot, Gide, Baudelaire, Edgar
Lee masters, Stendhal, Turgenev, Huneker, Nietzsche, and
scores of others? Were these men real? Did they exist or had
they existed? And how did one pronounce their names?

Orwell, George. “Politics and the English Language.” All Art Is
Propaganda: Critical Essays. New York: Mariner,
2009. (1946)

Hofstadter, Richard. “Abraham Lincoln and the Self-Made
Myth.” The American Political Tradition and the Men Who
Made It. New York: Vintage, 1974. (1948)

Lincoln was shaken by the presidency. Back in Springfield,
politics had been a sort of exhilarating game; but in the
White House, politics was power, and power was responsibility.
Never before had Lincoln held executive office. In
public life he had always been an insignificant legislator whose
votes were cast in concert with others and whose de-
cisions in themselves had neither finality nor importance. As
President he might consult with others, but innumerable
grave decisions were in the end his own, and with them came a
burden of responsibility terrifying in its dimensions.

Lincoln’s rage for personal success, his external and worldly
ambition, was quieted when he entered the White House,
and he was at last left alone to reckon with himself. To be

confronted with the fruits of his victory only to find that it
meant choosing between life and death for others was
immensely sobering. That Lincoln should have shouldered the
moral burden of the war was characteristic of the high
seriousness into which he had grown since 1854; and it may be
true, as Professor Charles W. Ramsdell suggested, that he was
stricken by an awareness of his own part in whipping
up the crisis. This would go far to explain the desperation with
which he issued pardons and the charity that he want-
ed to extend to the conquered South at the war’s close. In one of
his rare moments of self-revelation he is reported to
have said: “Now I don’t know what the soul is, but whatever it
is, I know that it can humble itself.” The great prose of
the presidential years came from a soul that had been humbled.
Lincoln’s utter lack of personal malice during these
years, his humane detachment, his tragic sense of life, have no
parallel in political history.

Tan, Amy. “Mother Tongue.” The Opposite of Fate: Memories
of a Writing Life. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 2003.
(1990)

Just last week, I was walking down the street with my mother,
and I again found myself conscious of the English I was
using, the English I do use with her. We were talking about the
price of new and used furniture and I heard myself say-
ing this: “Not waste money that way.” My husband was with us
as well, and he didn’t notice any switch in my English.
And then I realized why. It’s because over the twenty years
we’ve been together I’ve often used that same kind of
English with him, and sometimes he even uses it with me. It has
become our language of intimacy, a different sort of
English that relates to family talk, the language I grew up with.

So you’ll have some idea of what this family talk I heard sounds
like, I’ll quote what my mother said during a recent

conversation which I videotaped and then transcribed. During
this conversation, my mother was talking about a
political gangster in Shanghai who had the same last name as
her family’s, Du, and how the gangster in his early years
wanted to be adopted by her family, which was rich by
comparison. Later, the gangster became more powerful, far
richer than my mother’s family, and one day showed up at my
mother’s wedding to pay his respects. Here’s what
she said in part: “Du Yusong having business like fruit stand.
Like off the street kind. He is Du like Du Zong—but not
Tsung-ming Island people. The local people call putong, the
river east side, he belong to that side local people. That
man want to ask Du Zong father take him in like become own
family. Du Zong father wasn’t look down on him, but
didn’t take seriously, until that man big like become a mafia.
Now important person, very hard to inviting him. Chinese
way, came only to show respect, don’t stay for dinner. Respect
for making big celebration, he shows up. Mean gives
lots of respect. Chinese custom. Chinese social life that way. If
too important won’t have to stay too long. He come to
my wedding. I didn’t see, I heard it. I gone to boy’s side, they
have YMCA dinner. Chinese age I was nineteen.”

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Anaya, Rudolfo. “Take the Tortillas Out of Your Poetry.” The
Anaya Reader. New York: Warner Books, 1995. (1995)

In a recent lecture, “Is Nothing Sacred?”, Salman Rushdie, one
of the most censored authors of our time, talked about
the importance of books. He grew up in a household in India
where books were as sacred as bread. If anyone in the
household dropped a piece of bread or a book, the person not
only picked it up, but also kissed the object by way of
apologizing for clumsy disrespect.

He goes on to say that he had kissed many books before he had
kissed a girl. Bread and books were for his house-
hold, and for many like his, food for the body and the soul. This
image of the kissing of the book one had accidentally
dropped made an impression on me. It speaks to the love and
respect many people have for them.

I grew up in a small town in New Mexico, and we had very few
books in our household. The first one I remember read-
ing was my catechism book. Before I went to school to learn
English, my mother taught me catechism in Spanish.
I remember the questions and answers I had to learn, and I
remember the well-thumbed, frayed volume which was
sacred to me.

Growing up with few books in the house created in me a desire
and a need for them. When I started school, I remem-

ber visiting the one room library of our town and standing in
front of the dusty shelves. In reality there were only a
few shelves and not over a thousand books, but I wanted to read
them all. There was food for my soul in the books,
that much I realized.

FOR USE WITH THE COMMON CO RE STAT STANDARDS
INITIATIVE ONLY. FURTHER PERMISSION IS REQUIRED
FOR
REPRODUCTION FOR CLASSROOM USE. From THE
ANAYA READER. Copyright © 1995 by Rudolfo Anaya.
Published
by Warner Books, New York. Originally published in
CENSORED BOOKS: CRITICAL VIEWPOIN TS, Eds.
Karolides,
Burres, Kean, Scarecrow Press, May 1993, Metuchen, NJ. By
permission of Susan Bergholz Literary Services, New York,
NY Lamy, NM. All rights reserved.

Sample Performance Tasks for Informational Texts: English
Language Arts

• Students delineate and evaluate the argument that Thomas
Paine makes in Common Sense. They assess the
reasoning present in his analysis, including the premises and
purposes of his essay. [RI.11–12.8]

• Students analyze Thomas Jefferson’s Declaration of
Independence, identifying its purpose and evaluating
rhetorical features such as the listing of grievances. Students
compare and contrast the themes and argument
found there to those of other U.S. documents of historical and
literary significance, such as the Olive Branch
Petition. [RI.11–12.9]

• Students provide an objective summary of Henry David

Thoreau’s Walden wherein they analyze how he ar-
ticulates the central ideas of living simply and being self-reliant
and how those ideas interact and build on one
another (e.g., “According to Thoreau, how specifically does
moving toward complexity in one’s life undermine
self-reliance?”) [RI.11–12.2]

• Students analyze how the key term success is interpreted,
used, and refined over the course of G. K. Chester-
ton’s essay “The Fallacy of Success.” [RI.11–12.4]

• Students determine Richard Hofstadter’s purpose and
point of view in his “Abraham Lincoln and the Self-Made
Myth,” analyzing how both Hofstadter’s style and content
contribute to the eloquent and powerful contrast
he draws between the younger, ambitious Lincoln and the sober,
more reflective man of the presidential
years. [RI.11–12.6]

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Informational Texts: History/Social Studies

Tocqueville, Alexis de. Democracy in America. Translated by
Henry Reeve. (1835)
From Chapter 2: “The Origins of the Anglo-Americans”

The remarks I have made will suffice to display the character of
Anglo-American civilization in its true light. It is the
result (and this should be constantly present to the mind of two
distinct elements), which in other places have been in
frequent hostility, but which in America have been admirably
incorporated and combined with one another. I allude to
the spirit of Religion and the spirit of Liberty.

The settlers of New England were at the same time ardent
sectarians and daring innovators. Narrow as the limits of
some of their religious opinions were, they were entirely free
from political prejudices. Hence arose two tendencies,
distinct but not opposite, which are constantly discernible in the
manners as well as in the laws of the country.

It might be imagined that men who sacrificed their friends, their
family, and their native land to a religious convic-
tion were absorbed in the pursuit of the intellectual advantages
which they purchased at so dear a rate. The energy,
however, with which they strove for the acquirement of wealth,
moral enjoyment, and the comforts as well as liberties
of the world, is scarcely inferior to that with which they
devoted themselves to Heaven.

Political principles and all human laws and institutions were
moulded and altered at their pleasure; the barriers of the

society in which they were born were broken down before them;
the old principles which had governed the world for
ages were no more; a path without a turn and a field without an
horizon were opened to the exploring and ardent
curiosity of man: but at the limits of the political world he
checks his researches, he discreetly lays aside the use of
his most formidable faculties, he no longer consents to doubt or
to innovate, but carefully abstaining from raising the
curtain of the sanctuary, he yields with submissive respect to
truths which he will not discuss. Thus, in the moral world
everything is classed, adapted, decided, and foreseen; in the
political world everything is agitated, uncertain, and
disputed: in the one is a passive, though a voluntary, obedience;
in the other an independence scornful of experience
and jealous of authority.

These two tendencies, apparently so discrepant, are far from
conflicting; they advance together, and mutually support
each other. Religion perceives that civil liberty affords a noble
exercise to the faculties of man, and that the political
world is a field prepared by the Creator for the efforts of the
intelligence. Contented with the freedom and the power
which it enjoys in its own sphere, and with the place which it
occupies, the empire of religion is never more surely es-
tablished than when it reigns in the hearts of men unsupported
by aught beside its native strength. Religion is no less
the companion of liberty in all its battles and its triumphs; the
cradle of its infancy, and the divine source of its claims.
The safeguard of morality is religion, and morality is the best
security of law and the surest pledge of freedom.

Declaration of Sentiments by the Seneca Falls Conference. An
American Primer. Edited by Daniel J. Boorstin.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1966. (1848)

When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for

one portion of the family of man to assume among
the people of the earth a position different from that which they
have hitherto occupied, but one to which the laws
of nature and of nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to
the opinions of mankind requires that they should
declare the causes that impel them to such a course.

We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men and women
are created equal; that they are endowed by their
Creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are
life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; that to secure
these rights governments are instituted, deriving their just
powers from the consent of the governed. Whenever any
form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the
right of those who suffer from it to refuse allegiance
to it, and to insist upon the institution of a new government,
laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing
its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to
effect their safety and happiness. Prudence, indeed, will
dictate that governments long established should not be changed
for light and transient causes; and accordingly all
experience hath shown that mankind are more disposed to suffer
while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves
by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But
when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing in-
variably the same object, evinces a design to reduce them under
absolute despotism, it is their duty to throw off such
government, and to provide new guards for their future security.
Such has been the patient sufferance of the women
under this government, and such is now the necessity which
constrains them to demand the equal station to which
they are entitled. The history of mankind is a history of
repeated injuries and usurpations on the part of man toward
woman, having in direct object the establishment of an absolute
tyranny over her. To prove this, let facts be submitted
to a candid world.

The history of mankind is a history of repeated injuries and
usurpations on the part of man toward woman, having
in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over
her. To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid
world.

He has never permitted her to exercise her inalienable right to
the elective franchise.

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He has compelled her to submit to laws, in the formation of
which she had no voice.

He has withheld from her rights which are given to the most
ignorant and degraded men—both natives and foreign-

ers.

Having deprived her of this first right of a citizen, the elective
franchise, thereby leaving her without representation in
the halls of legislation, he has oppressed her on all sides.

He has made her, if married, in the eye of the law, civilly dead.

He has taken from her all right in property, even to the wages
she earns.

He has made her, morally, an irresponsible being, as she can
commit many crimes with impunity, provided they be
done in the presence of her husband. In the covenant of
marriage, she is compelled to promise obedience to her
husband, he becoming, to all intents and purposes, her master—
the law giving him power to deprive her of her liberty,
and to administer chastisement.

He has so framed the laws of divorce, as to what shall be the
proper causes, and in case of separation, to whom the
guardianship of the children shall be given, as to be wholly
regardless of the happiness of women—the law, in all
cases, going upon a false supposition of the supremacy of man,
and giving all power into his hands.

After depriving her of all rights as a married woman, if single,
and the owner of property, he has taxed her to support
a government which recognizes her only when her property can
be made profitable to it.

He has monopolized nearly all the profitable employments, and
from those she is permitted to follow, she receives
but a scanty remuneration. He closes against her all the avenues
to wealth and distinction which he considers most
honorable to himself. As a teacher of theology, medicine, or

law, she is not known.

He has denied her the facilities for obtaining a thorough
education, all colleges being closed against her.

He allows her in church, as well as state, but a subordinate
position, claiming apostolic authority for her exclusion
from the ministry, and, with some exceptions, from any public
participation in the affairs of the church.

He has created a false public sentiment by giving to the world a
different code of morals for men and women, by
which moral delinquencies which exclude women from society
are not only tolerated, but deemed of little account in
man.

He has usurped the prerogative of Jehovah himself, claiming it
as his right to assign for her a sphere of action, when
that belongs to her conscience and to her God.

He has endeavored, in every way that he could, to destroy her
confidence in her own powers, to lessen her self-re-
spect, and to make her willing to lead a dependent and abject
life.

Now, in view of this entire disfranchisement of one-half the
people of this country, their social and religious degrada-
tion—in view of the unjust laws above mentioned, and because
women do feel themselves aggrieved, oppressed, and
fraudulently deprived of their most sacred rights, we insist that
they have immediate admission to all the rights and
privileges which belong to them as citizens of the United States.

Douglass, Frederick. “What to the Slave Is the Fourth of July?:
An Address Delivered in Rochester, New York, on 5
July 1852.” The Oxford Frederick Douglass Reader. Oxford:

Oxford University Press, 1996. (1852)

Fellow Citizens, I am not wanting in respect for the fathers of
this republic. The signers of the Declaration of Indepen-
dence were brave men. They were great men, too great enough
to give frame to a great age. It does not often happen
to a nation to raise, at one time, such a number of truly great
men. The point from which I am compelled to view them
is not, certainly, the most favorable; and yet I cannot
contemplate their great deeds with less than admiration. They
were statesmen, patriots and heroes, and for the good they did,
and the principles they contended for, I will unite with
you to honor their memory....

...Fellow-citizens, pardon me, allow me to ask, why am I called
upon to speak here to-day? What have I, or those I
represent, to do with your national independence? Are the great
principles of political freedom and of natural justice,
embodied in that Declaration of Independence, extended to us?
And am I, therefore, called upon to bring our humble
offering to the national altar, and to confess the benefits and
express devout gratitude for the blessings resulting from
your independence to us?

Would to God, both for your sakes and ours, that an affirmative
answer could be truthfully returned to these ques-
tions! Then would my task be light, and my burden easy and
delightful. For who is there so cold, that a nation’s

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sympathy could not warm him? Who so obdurate and dead to the
claims of gratitude, that would not thankfully
acknowledge such priceless benefits? Who so stolid and selfish,
that would not give his voice to swell the hallelujahs
of a nation’s jubilee, when the chains of servitude had been torn
from his limbs? I am not that man. In a case like that,
the dumb might eloquently speak, and the “lame man leap as an
hart.”

But such is not the state of the case. I say it with a sad sense of
the disparity between us. I am not included within the
pale of glorious anniversary! Your high independence only
reveals the immeasurable distance between us. The
blessings in which you, this day, rejoice, are not enjoyed in
common. The rich inheritance of justice, liberty, prosperity
and independence, bequeathed by your fathers, is shared by you,
not by me. The sunlight that brought light and
healing to you, has brought stripes and death to me. This Fourth
July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must
mourn. To drag a man in fetters into the grand illuminated
temple of liberty, and call upon him to join you in joyous
anthems, were inhuman mockery and sacrilegious irony. Do you
mean, citizens, to mock me, by asking me to speak
to-day? If so, there is a parallel to your conduct. And let me

warn you that it is dangerous to copy the example of a
nation whose crimes, towering up to heaven, were thrown down
by the breath of the Almighty, burying that nation in
irrevocable ruin! I can to-day take up the plaintive lament of a
peeled and woe-smitten people!

“By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down. Yea! We wept
when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon
the willows in the midst thereof. For there, they that carried us
away captive, required of us a song; and they who
wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs
of Zion. How can we sing the Lord’s song in a strange
land? If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her
cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue
cleave to the roof of my mouth.”

Fellow-citizens, above your national, tumultuous joy, I hear the
mournful wail of millions! whose chains, heavy and
grievous yesterday, are, to-day, rendered more intolerable by
the jubilee shouts that reach them. If I do forget, if I do
not faithfully remember those bleeding children of sorrow this
day, “may my right hand forget her cunning, and may
my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth!” To forget them, to
pass lightly over their wrongs, and to chime in with the
popular theme, would be treason most scandalous and shocking,
and would make me a reproach before God and the
world. My subject, then, fellow-citizens, is American slavery. I
shall see this day and its popular characteristics from
the slave’s point of view. Standing there identified with the
American bondman, making his wrongs mine, I do not
hesitate to declare, with all my soul, that the character and
conduct of this nation never looked blacker to me than on
this 4th of July! Whether we turn to the declarations of the past,
or to the professions of the present, the conduct of
the nation seems equally hideous and revolting. America is false
to the past, false to the present, and solemnly binds

herself to be false to the future. Standing with God and the
crushed and bleeding slave on this occasion, I will, in the
name of humanity which is outraged, in the name of liberty
which is fettered, in the name of the constitution and the
Bible which are disregarded and trampled upon, dare to call in
question and to denounce, with all the emphasis I can
command, everything that serves to perpetuate slavery the great
sin and shame of America! “I will not equivocate; I
will not excuse”; I will use the severest language I can
command; and yet not one word shall escape me that any man,
whose judgment is not blinded by prejudice, or who is not at
heart a slaveholder, shall not confess to be right and just.

But I fancy I hear some one of my audience say, “It is just in
this circumstance that you and your brother abolitionists
fail to make a favorable impression on the public mind. Would
you argue more, an denounce less; would you persuade
more, and rebuke less; your cause would be much more likely to
succeed.” But, I submit, where all is plain there is
nothing to be argued. What point in the anti-slavery creed
would you have me argue? On what branch of the subject
do the people of this country need light? Must I undertake to
prove that the slave is a man? That point is conceded
already. Nobody doubts it. The slaveholders themselves
acknowledge it in the enactment of laws for their govern-
ment. They acknowledge it when they punish disobedience on
the part of the slave. There are seventy-two crimes in
the State of Virginia which, if committed by a black man (no
matter how ignorant he be), subject him to the punish-
ment of death; while only two of the same crimes will subject a
white man to the like punishment. What is this but the
acknowledgment that the slave is a moral, intellectual, and
responsible being? The manhood of the slave is conceded.
It is admitted in the fact that Southern statute books are covered
with enactments forbidding, under severe fines and
penalties, the teaching of the slave to read or to write. When

you can point to any such laws in reference to the beasts
of the field, then I may consent to argue the manhood of the
slave. When the dogs in your streets, when the fowls of
the air, when the cattle on your hills, when the fish of the sea,
and the reptiles that crawl, shall be unable to distinguish
the slave from a brute, then will I argue with you that the slave
is a man!

For the present, it is enough to affirm the equal manhood of the
Negro race. Is it not astonishing that, while we are
ploughing, planting, and reaping, using all kinds of mechanical
tools, erecting houses, constructing bridges, building
ships, working in metals of brass, iron, copper, silver and gold;
that, while we are reading, writing and ciphering, acting
as clerks, merchants and secretaries, having among us lawyers,
doctors, ministers, poets, authors, editors, orators and
teachers; that, while we are engaged in all manner of enterprises
common to other men, digging gold in California,
capturing the whale in the Pacific, feeding sheep and cattle on
the hill-side, living, moving, acting, thinking, planning,
living in families as husbands, wives and children, and, above
all, confessing and worshipping the Christian’s God, and
looking hopefully for life and immortality beyond the grave, we
are called upon to prove that we are men!

Would you have me argue that man is entitled to liberty? That
he is the rightful owner of his own body? You have
already declared it. Must I argue the wrongfulness of slavery? Is
that a question for Republicans? Is it to be settled by
the rules of logic and argumentation, as a matter beset with
great difficulty, involving a doubtful application of the

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principle of justice, hard to be understood? How should I look
to-day, in the presence of Americans, dividing, and
subdividing a discourse, to show that men have a natural right
to freedom? Speaking of it relatively and positively,
negatively and affirmatively. To do so, would be to make
myself ridiculous, and to offer an insult to your understand-
ing. There is not a man beneath the canopy of heaven that does
not know that slavery is wrong for him.

What, am I to argue that it is wrong to make men brutes, to rob
them of their liberty, to work them without wages, to
keep them ignorant of their relations to their fellow men, to beat
them with sticks, to flay their flesh with the lash, to
load their limbs with irons, to hunt them with dogs, to sell them
at auction, to sunder their families, to knock out their
teeth, to burn their flesh, to starve them into obedience and
submission to their masters? Must I argue that a system
thus marked with blood, and stained with pollution, is wrong?
No! I will not. I have better employment for my time

and strength than such arguments would imply.

What, then, remains to be argued? Is it that slavery is not
divine; that God did not establish it; that our doctors of
divinity are mistaken? There is blasphemy in the thought. That
which is inhuman, cannot be divine! Who can reason
on such a proposition? They that can, may; I cannot. The time
for such argument is passed.

At a time like this, scorching irony, not convincing argument, is
needed. O! Had I the ability, and could reach the
nation’s ear, I would, to-day, pour out a fiery stream of biting
ridicule, blasting reproach, withering sarcasm, and stern
rebuke. For it is not light that is needed, but fire; it is not the
gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the
whirlwind, and the earthquake. The feeling of the nation must
be quickened; the conscience of the nation must be
roused; the propriety of the nation must be startled; the
hypocrisy of the nation must be exposed; and its crimes
against God and man must be proclaimed and denounced.

What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July? I answer; a
day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the
year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant
victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your
boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness,
swelling vanity; your sounds of rejoicing are empty and
heartless; your denunciation of tyrants, brass fronted
impudence; your shouts of liberty and equality, hollow
mockery;
your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanksgivings, with
all your religious parade and solemnity, are, to Him,
mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy — a
thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a
nation of savages. There is not a nation on the earth guilty of
practices more shocking and bloody than are the people

of the United States, at this very hour.

Go where you may, search where you will, roam through all the
monarchies and despotisms of the Old World, travel
through South America, search out every abuse, and when you
have found the last, lay your facts by the side of the
everyday practices of this nation, and you will say with me,
that, for revolting barbarity and shameless hypocrisy,
America reigns without a rival.

An American Primer. Edited by Daniel J. Boorstin. Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1966. (1966)

Lagemann, Ellen Condliffe. “Education.” The Reader’s
Companion to American History. Edited by Eric Foner and
John A. Garraty. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1991. (1991)

McPherson, James M. What They Fought For 1861–1865. New
York: Anchor, 1995. (1994)
From Chapter 2: “The Best Government on God’s Footstool”

One of the questions often asked a Civil War historian is, “Why
did the North fight?” Southern motives seem easier
to understand. Confederates fought for independence, for their
own property and way of life, for their very survival
as a nation. But what did the Yankees fight for? Why did they
persist through four years of the bloodiest conflict in
American history, costing 360,000 northern lives—not to
mention 260,000 southern lives and untold destruction of
resources? Puzzling over this question in 1863, Confederate
War Department clerk John Jones wrote in his diary: “Our
men must prevail in combat, or lose their property, country,
freedom, everything…. On the other hand the enemy, in
yielding the contest, may retire into their own country, and
possess everything they enjoyed before the war began.”

If that was true, why did the Yankees keep fighting? We can
find much of the answer in Abraham Lincoln’s notable
speeches: the Gettysburg Address, his first and second inaugural
addresses, the peroration of his message to Con-
gress on December 1, 1862. But we can find even more of the
answer in the wartime letters and diaries of the men
who did the fighting. Confederates who said that they fought for
the same goals as their forebears of 1776 would
have been surprised by the intense conviction of the northern
soldiers that they were upholding the legacy of the
American Revolution.

The American Reader: Words that Moved a Nation, 2nd Edition.
Edited by Diane Ravitch. New York: HarperCollins,
2000. (2000)

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Amar, Akhil Reed. America’s Constitution: A Biography. New
York: Random House, 2005. (2005)
From Chapter 2: “New Rules for a New World”

Let’s begin with two tiny puzzles posed by the Article I
command that “Representatives and direct Taxes shall be
apportioned among the several States…by adding to the whole
Number of free Persons…three fifths of all other
Persons.” First, although this language specified the
apportionment formula “among the several states,” it failed to
specify the formula within each state.

[…]

A second small puzzle: why did Article I peg the number of
representatives to the underlying number of persons,
instead of the underlying number of eligible voters, a là New
York?

[…]

These two small problems, centering on the seemingly innocent
words “among” and “Persons” quickly spiral out into
the most vicious words of the apportionment clause: “adding
three fifths of all other persons.” Other persons here
meant other than free persons – that is, slaves. Thus, the more
slaves a given state’s master class bred or bought, the
more seats the state could claim in Congress, for every decade
in perpetuity.

The Philadelphia draftsmen camouflaged this ugly point as best
they could, euphemistically avoiding the S-word and
simultaneously introducing the T-word – taxes – into the
equation (Representatives and direct Taxes shall be appor-
tioned).

[…]

The full import of the camouflaged clause eluded many readers
in the late 1780s. In the wake of two decades of
debate about taxation and burdens under the empire and
confederation, many Founding-era Americans confronting
the clause focused on taxation rather than on representation.
Some Northern critics grumbled that three-fifths should
have been five-fifths so as to oblige the South to pay more
taxes, without noticing that five-fifths would have also
enabled the South to gain more House seats.

McCullough, David. 1776. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2005.
(2005)
From Chapter 3: “Dorchester Heights”

On January 14, two weeks into the new year, George
Washington wrote one of the most forlorn, despairing letters of
his life. He had been suffering sleepless nights in the big house
by the Charles. “The reflection upon my situation and
that of this army produces many an uneasy hour when all around
me are wrapped in sleep,” he told the absent Joseph
Reed. “Few people know the predicament we are in.”

Filling page after page, he enumerated the same troubles and
woes he had been reporting persistently to Congress
for so long, and that he would report still again to John Hancock
that same day. There was too little powder, still no
money. (Money was useful in the common affairs of life but in
war it was essential, Washington would remind the
wealthy Hancock.) So many of the troops who had given up and
gone home had, against orders, carried off muskets
that were not their own that the supply of arms was depleted to
the point where there were not enough for the new
recruits. “We have not at this time 100 guns in the stores of all

that have been taken in the prize ship [the captured
British supply ship Nancy],” he wrote to Reed. On paper his
army numbered between 8,000 and 10,000. In reality
only half that number where fit for duty.

It was because he had been unable to attack Boston that things
had come to such a pass, he was convinced, The
changing of one army to another in the midst of winter, with the
enemy so close at hand, was like nothing, “in the
pages of history.” That the British were so “blind” to what was
going on and the true state of his situation he consid-
ered nearly miraculous.

He was downcast and feeling quite sorry for himself. Had he
known what he was getting into, he told Reed, he would
never have accepted the command.

Bell, Julian. Mirror of the World: A New History of Art. New
York: Thames & Hudson, 2007. (2007)
From Chapter 7: “Theatrical Realities”

The idea that artists are transforming the cultures around them
and imagining the previously unimaginable – Mi-
chelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel, for instance—makes for
a more exciting story. But if we insist on looking for
innovation, we may go against the historical grain. Art cultures
always move, but not always in leaps. Westerners are
used to thinking that small-scale societies (Aboriginal
Australia, for instance) have changed their terms of reference
relatively slowly, but the same might be said of the largest of
all regional civilizations. Through the 16th century—as

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through most of the last two millennia—the world’s wealthiest
and most populous state was China, then ruled by the
Ming dynasty. Far from Beijing, the empire’s capital, a landed
elite had converged for three centuries around the lake-
side city of Souzhou. In this agreeably sophisticated
environment, Weng Zhingming was one of hundreds devoting
himself to painting scrolls with landscape or plant studies
accompanied by poetic inscriptions. It was a high-minded
pursuit, in so far as literati like Wen would not (in principle at
least) take money for their work.

Wen’s Seven Junipers of 1532 stands out among the throng of
such works on account of its whip-crack dynamism,
a wild, irregular rhythm bounding over the length of three and a
half metres (twelve feet) of paper. It seems to do
things with pictorial space that Western painters would not
attempt until the 20th century. But its force—unlike that
of contemporary works by Michelangelo—is by no means a
matter of radicalism. Wen, painting the scroll in his sixties,

was returning to an image painted by his revered predecessor in
Suzhou, Shen Zhou, and looking back beyond Shen
to the style of Zhao Mengfu, who had painted around 1300. His
accompanying poem, written ‘in admiration of antiq-
uity’, identifies the junipers as morally encouraging emblems of
resilience as ‘magic witnesses of days gone by’. ‘Who
knows’, he adds wistfully, ‘what is to come hereafter?’ In other
words, the momentum here is one of nostalgia: in the
hands of a distinguished exponent in a privileged location in a
politically unruffled era, backwards-looking might have
a creative force of its own.

FedViews by the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco (2009)

The opinions expressed in this article do not necessarily reflect
the views of the management of the Federal Reserve
Bank of San Francisco, or of the Board of Governors of the
Federal Reserve System.

Mary C. Daly, vice president and director of the Center for the
Study of Innovation and Productivity at the Federal
Reserve Bank of San Francisco, states her views on the current
economy and the outlook.

• Financial markets are improving, and the crisis mode that
has characterized the past year is subsiding. The
adverse feedback loop, in which losses by banks and other
lenders lead to tighter credit availability, which
then leads to lower spending by households and businesses, has
begun to slow. As such, investors’ appetite for
risk is returning, and some of the barriers to credit that have
been constraining businesses and households are
diminishing.

• Income from the federal fiscal stimulus, as well as some
improvement in confidence, has helped stabilize con-

sumer spending. Since consumer spending accounts for two-
thirds of all economic activity, this is a key factor
affecting our forecast of growth in the third quarter.

• The gradual nature of the recovery will put additional
pressure on state and local budgets. Following a difficult
2009, especially in the West, most states began the 2010 fiscal
year on July 1 with even larger budget gaps to
solve.

• Still, many remain worried that large fiscal deficits will
eventually be inflationary. However, a look at the empiri-
cal link between fiscal deficits and inflation in the United States
shows no correlation between the two. Indeed,
during the 1980s, when the United States was running large
deficits, inflation was coming down.

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Informational Texts: Science, Mathematics, and Technical
Subjects

Paulos, John Allen. Innumeracy: Mathematical Illiteracy and Its
Consequences. New York: Vintage, 1988. (1988)
From Chapter 1: “Examples and Principles”

Archimedes and Practically Infinite Numbers

There is a fundamental property of numbers named after the
Greek mathematician Archimedes which states that any
number, no matter how huge, can be exceeded by adding
together sufficiently many of any smaller number, no mat-

ter how tiny. Though obvious in principle, the consequences are
sometimes resisted, as they were by the student of
mine who maintained that human hair just didn’t grow in miles
per hour. Unfortunately, the nanoseconds used up in a
simple computer operation do add up to lengthy bottlenecks on
intractable problems, many of which would require
millennia to solve in general. It takes some getting accustomed
to the fact that the minuscule times and distances of
microphysics as well as the vastness of astronomical phenomena
share the dimensions of our human world.

It’s clear how the above property of numbers led to
Archimedes’ famous pronouncement that given a fulcrum, a
long
enough lever, and a place to stand, he alone could physically lift
the earth. An awareness of the additivity of small
quantities is lacking in innumerates, who don’t seem to believe
that their little aerosol cans of hairspray could play any
role in the depletion of the ozone layer of the atmosphere, or
that their individual automobile contributes anything to
the problem of acid rain.

Gladwell, Malcolm. The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can
Make a Big Difference. New York: Back Bay Books,
2002. (2002)
From “The Three Rules of Epidemics”

The three rules of the Tipping Point—the Law of the few, the
Stickiness Factor, the Power of Context—offer a way of
making sense of epidemics. They provide us with direction for
how to go about reaching a Tipping Point. The balance
of this book will take these ideas and apply them to other
puzzling situations and epidemics from the world around
us. How do these three rules help us understand teenage
smoking, for example, or the phenomenon of word of
mouth, or crime, or the rise of a bestseller? The answers may

surprise you.

Tyson, Neil deGrasse. “Gravity in Reverse: The Tale of Albert
Einstein’s ‘Greatest Blunder.’” Natural History. 112.10
(Dec 2003). (2003)

Sung to the tune of “The Times They Are A-Changin’”:

Come gather ‘round, math phobes,
Wherever you roam
And admit that the cosmos
Around you has grown
And accept it that soon
You won’t know what’s worth knowin’
Until Einstein to you
Becomes clearer.
So you’d better start listenin’
Or you’ll drift cold and lone
For the cosmos is weird, gettin’ weirder.
—The Editors (with apologies to Bob Dylan)
Cosmology has always been weird. Worlds resting on the backs
of turtles, matter and energy coming into existence
out of much less than thin air. And now, just when you’d gotten
familiar, if hot really comfortable, with the idea of a
big bang, along comes something new to worry about. A
mysterious and universal pressure pervades all of space and
acts against the cosmic gravity that has tried to drag the
universe back together ever since the big bang. On top of
that, “negative gravity” has forced the expansion of the universe
to accelerate exponentially, and cosmic gravity is
losing the tug-of-war.

For these and similarly mind-warping ideas in twentieth-century
physics, just blame Albert Einstein.

Einstein hardly ever set foot in the laboratory; he didn’t test

phenomena or use elaborate equipment. He was a theo-
rist who perfected the “thought experiment,” in which you
engage nature through your imagination, inventing a situa-
tion or a model and then working out the consequences of some
physical principle.

If—as was the case for Einstein—a physicist’s model is
intended to represent the entire universe, then manipulating
the model should be tantamount to manipulating the universe
itself. Observers and experimentalists can then go out
and look for the phenomena predicted by that model. If the
model is flawed, or if the theorists make a mistake in their

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calculations, the observers will detect a mismatch between the
model’s predictions and the way things happen in the

real universe. That’s the first cue to try again, either by
adjusting the old model or by creating a new one.

Media Text
NOVA animation of an Einstein “thought experiment”:
http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/einstein/relativity/

Calishain, Tara, and Rael Dornfest. Google Hacks: Tips & Tools
for Smarter Searching, 2nd Edition. Sebastopol, Calif.:
O’Reilly Media, 2004. (2004)
From Chapter 1: “Web: Hacks 1–20,” Google Web Search
Basics

Whenever you search for more than one keyword at a time, a
search engine has a default strategy for handling and
combining those keywords. Can those words appear individually
in a page, or do they have to be right next to each
other? Will the engine search for both keywords or for either
keyword?

Phrase Searches

Google defaults to searching for occurrences of your specified
keywords anywhere on the page, whether side-by-side
or scattered throughout. To return results of pages containing
specifically ordered words, enclose them in quotes,
turning your keyword search into a phrase search, to use
Google’s terminology.

On entering a search for the keywords:

to be or not to be

Google will find matches where the keywords appear anywhere
on the page. If you want Google to find you matches
where the keywords appear together as a phrase, surround them

with quotes, like this:

“to be or not to be”

Google will return matches only where those words appear
together (not to mention explicitly including stop words
such as “to” and “or” […]).

Phrase searches are also useful when you want to find a phrase
but aren’t sure of the exact wording. This is accom-
plished in combination with wildcards […])

Basic Boolean

Whether an engine searches for all keywords or any of them
depends on what is called its Boolean default. Search
engines can default to Boolean AND (searching for all
keywords) or Boolean OR (searching for any keywords). Of
course, even if a search engine defaults to searching for all
keywords, you can usually give it a special command to
instruct it to search for any keyword. Lacking specific
instructions, the engine falls back on its default setting.

Google’s Boolean default is AND, which means that, if you
enter query words without modifiers, Google will search or
all of your query words. For example if you search for:

snowblower Honda “Green Bay”

Google will search for all the words. If you prefer to specify
that any one word or phrase is acceptable, put an OR
between each:

snowblower OR Honda OR “Green Bay”

Kane, Gordon. “The Mysteries of Mass.” Scientific American

Special Edition December 2005. (2005)

Physicists are hunting for an elusive particle that would reveal
the presence of a new kind of field that permeates all
of reality. Finding that Higgs field will give us a more complete
understanding about how the universe works.

Most people think they know what mass is, but they understand
only part of the story. For instance, an elephant is
clearly bulkier and weighs more than an ant. Even in the
absence of gravity, the elephant would have greater mass—it
would be harder to push and set in motion. Obviously the
elephant is more massive because it is made of many more
atoms than the ant is, but what determines the masses of the
individual atoms? What about the elementary particles
that make up the atoms—what determines their masses? Indeed,
why do they even have mass?

We see that the problem of mass has two independent aspects.
First, we need to learn how mass arises at all. It turns
out mass results from at least three different mechanisms, which
I will describe below. A key player in physicists’

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tentative theories about mass is a new kind of field that
permeates all of reality, called the Higgs field. Elementary
particle masses are thought to come about from the interaction
with the Higgs field. If the Higgs field exists, theory
demands that it have an associated particle, the Higgs boson.
Using particle accelerators, scientists are now hunting
for the Higgs.

Fischetti, Mark. “Working Knowledge: Electronic Stability
Control.” Scientific American April 2007. (2007)

Steer Clear

Automakers are offering electronic stability control on more
and more passenger vehicles to help prevent them from
sliding, veering off the road, or even rolling over. The
technology is a product of an ongoing evolution stemming from
antilock brakes.

When a driver jams the brake pedal too hard, anti-lock
hydraulic valves subtract brake pressure at a given wheel so
the wheel does not lock up. As these systems proliferated in the
1990s, manufacturers tacked on traction-control
valves that help a spinning drive wheel grip the road.

For stability control, engineers mounted more hydraulics that
can apply pressure to any wheel, even if the driver is
not braking. When sensors indicate the car is sliding forward

instead of turning or is turning too sharply, the actuators
momentarily brake certain wheels to correct the trajectory.
“Going to electronic stability control was a big step,” says
Scott Dahl, director of chassis-control strategy at supplier
Robert Bosch in Farmington Hills, Michigan. “We had to
add sensors that can determine what the driver intends to do and
compare that with what the car is actually doing.”
Most systems also petition the engine-control computer to
reduce engine torque to dampen wayward movement.

U.S. General Services Administration. Executive Order 13423:
Strengthening Federal Environmental, Energy, and
Transportation Management.
http://www.gsa.gov/Portal/gsa/ep/contentView.do?contentType=
GSA_BASIC&contentId=22395 2010 (2007)

Executive Order 13423

Strengthening Federal Environmental, Energy, and
Transportation Management

The President Strengthening Federal Environmental, Energy,
and Transportation Management
By the authority vested in me as President by the Constitution
and the laws of the United States of America, and to
strengthen the environmental, energy, and transportation
management of Federal agencies, it is hereby ordered as
follows:

Section 1. Policy. It is the policy of the United States that
Federal agencies conduct their environmental, transporta-
tion, and energy-related activities under the law in support of
their respective missions in an environmentally, eco-
nomically and fiscally sound, integrated, continuously
improving, efficient, and sustainable manner.

Sec. 2. Goals for Agencies. In implementing the policy set forth
in section 1 of this order, the head of each agency
shall:

(a) improve energy efficiency and reduce greenhouse gas
emissions of the agency, through reduction of energy
intensity by (i) 3 percent annually through the end of fiscal year
2015, or (ii) 30 percent by the end of fiscal year 2015,
relative to the baseline of the agency’s energy use in fiscal year
2003;

(b) ensure that (i) at least half of the statutorily required
renewable energy consumed by the agency in a fiscal year
comes from new renewable sources, and (ii) to the extent
feasible, the agency implements renewable energy genera-
tion projects on agency property for agency use;

(c) beginning in FY 2008, reduce water consumption intensity,
relative to the baseline of the agency’s water con-
sumption in fiscal year 2007, through life-cycle cost-effective
measures by 2 percent annually through the end of
fiscal year 2015 or 16 percent by the end of fiscal year 2015;

(d) require in agency acquisitions of goods and services (i) use
of sustainable environmental practices, including
acquisition of biobased, environmentally preferable, energy-
efficient, water-efficient, and recycled-content products,
and (ii) use of paper of at least 30 percent post-consumer fiber
content;

(e) ensure that the agency (i) reduces the quantity of toxic and
hazardous chemicals and materials acquired, used,
or disposed of by the agency, (ii) increases diversion of solid
waste as appropriate, and (iii) maintains cost-effective
waste prevention and recycling programs in its facilities;

(f) ensure that (i) new construction and major renovation of
agency buildings comply with the Guiding Principles for

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Federal Leadership in High Performance and Sustainable
Buildings set forth in the Federal Leadership in High Perfor-
mance and Sustainable Buildings Memorandum of
Understanding (2006), and (ii) 15 percent of the existing
Federal
capital asset building inventory of the agency as of the end of
fiscal year 2015 incorporates the sustainable practices
in the Guiding Principles;

(g) ensure that, if the agency operates a fleet of at least 20
motor vehicles, the agency, relative to agency baselines
for fiscal year 2005, (i) reduces the fleet’s total consumption of

petroleum products by 2 percent annually through
the end of fiscal year 2015, (ii) increases the total fuel
consumption that is non-petroleum-based by 10 percent an-
nually, and (iii) uses plug-in hybrid (PIH) vehicles when PIH
vehicles are commercially available at a cost reasonably
comparable, on the basis of life-cycle cost, to non-PIH vehicles;
and

(h) ensure that the agency (i) when acquiring an electronic
product to meet its requirements, meets at least 95 per-
cent of those requirements with an Electronic Product
Environmental Assessment Tool (EPEAT)-registered electronic
product, unless there is no EPEAT standard for such product,

(ii) enables the Energy Star feature on agency computers and
monitors,

(iii) establishes and implements policies to extend the useful
life of agency electronic equipment, and (iv) uses envi-
ronmentally sound practices with respect to disposition of
agency electronic equipment that has reached the end of
its useful life.

Kurzweil, Ray. “The Coming Merger of Mind and Machine.”
Scientific American Special Edition January 2008.
(2008)

The accelerating pace of technological progress means that our
intelligent creations will soon eclipse us—and that
their creations will eventually eclipse them.

Sometime early in this century the intelligence of machines will
exceed that of humans. Within a quarter of a century,
machines will exhibit the full range of human intellect,
emotions and skills, ranging from musical and other creative
aptitudes to physical movement. They will claim to have

feelings and, unlike today’s virtual personalities, will be very
convincing when they tell us so. By around 2020 a $1,000
computer will at least match the processing power of the
human brain. By 2029 the software for intelligence will have
been largely mastered, and the average personal com-
puter will be equivalent to 1,000 brains.

Once computers achieve a level of intelligence comparable to
that of humans, they will necessarily soar past it. For
example, if I learn French, I can’t readily download that
learning to you. The reason is that for us, learning involves
successions of stunningly complex patterns of interconnections
among brain cells (neurons) and among the concen-
trations of biochemicals known as neurotransmitters that enable
impulses to travel from neuron to neuron. We have
no way of quickly downloading these patterns. But quick
downloading will allow our nonbiological creations to share
immediately what they learn with billions of other machines.
Ultimately, nonbiological entities will master not only the
sum total of their own knowledge but all of ours as well.

Gibbs, W. Wayt. “Untangling the Roots of Cancer.” Scientific
American Special Edition June 2008. (2008)

Recent evidence challenges long-held theories of how cells turn
malignant—and suggests new ways to stop tumors
before they spread.

What causes cancer?

Tobacco smoke, most people would say. Probably too much
alcohol, sunshine or grilled meat; infection with cervi-
cal papillomaviruses; asbestos. All have strong links to cancer,
certainly. But they cannot be root causes. Much of the
population is exposed to these carcinogens, yet only a tiny
minority suffers dangerous tumors as a consequence.

A cause, by definition, leads invariably to its effect. The
immediate cause of cancer must be some combination of
insults and accidents that induces normal cells in a healthy
human body to turn malignant, growing like weeds and
sprouting in unnatural places.

At this level, the cause of cancer is not entirely a mystery. In
fact, a decade ago many geneticists were confident that
science was homing in on a final answer: cancer is the result of
cumulative mutations that alter specific locations in
a cell’s DNA and thus change the particular proteins encoded by
cancer-related genes at those spots. The mutations
affect two kinds of cancer genes. The first are called tumor
suppressors. They normally restrain cells’ ability to divide,
and mutations permanently disable the genes. The second
variety, known as oncogenes, stimulate growth—in other
words, cell division. Mutations lock oncogenes into an active
state. Some researchers still take it as axiomatic that
such growth-promoting changes to a small number of cancer
genes are the initial event and root cause of every hu-
man cancer.

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Gawande, Atul. “The Cost Conundrum: Health Care Costs in
McAllen, Texas.” The New Yorker June 1, 2009. (2009)

It is spring in McAllen, Texas. The morning sun is warm. The
streets are lined with palm trees and pickup trucks. McAl-
len is in Hidalgo County, which has the lowest household
income in the country, but it’s a border town, and a thriving
foreign-trade zone has kept the unemployment rate below ten
per cent. McAllen calls itself the Square Dance Capital
of the World. “Lonesome Dove” was set around here.

McAllen has another distinction, too: it is one of the most
expensive health-care markets in the country. Only Miami—
which has much higher labor and living costs—spends more per
person on health care. In 2006, Medicare spent fif-
teen thousand dollars per enrollee here, almost twice the
national average. The income per capita is twelve thousand
dollars. In other words, Medicare spends three thousand dollars
more per person here than the average person earns.

The explosive trend in American medical costs seems to have
occurred here in an especially intense form. Our coun-
try’s health care is by far the most expensive in the world. In
Washington, the aim of health-care reform is not just to
extend medical coverage to everybody but also to bring costs
under control. Spending on doctors, hospitals, drugs,
and the like now consumes more than one of every six dollars
we earn. The financial burden has damaged the global

competitiveness of American businesses and bankrupted
millions of families, even those with insurance. It’s also
devouring our government. “The greatest threat to America’s
fiscal health is not Social Security,” President Barack
Obama said in a March speech at the White House. “It’s not the
investments that we’ve made to rescue our economy
during this crisis. By a wide margin, the biggest threat to our
nation’s balance sheet is the skyrocketing cost of health
care. It’s not even close.”

Sample Performance Tasks for Informational Texts:
History/Social Studies & Science,
Mathematics, and Technical Subjects

• Students determine the central ideas found in the
Declaration of Sentiments by the Seneca Falls Conference,
noting the parallels between it and the Declaration of
Independence and providing a summary that makes
clear the relationships among the key details and ideas of each
text and between the texts. [RH.11–12.2]

• Students evaluate the premises of James M. McPherson’s
argument regarding why Northern soldiers fought in
the Civil War by corroborating the evidence provided from the
letters and diaries of these soldiers with other
primary and secondary sources and challenging McPherson’s
claims where appropriate. [RH.11–12.8]

• Students integrate the information provided by Mary C.
Daly, vice president at the Federal Reserve Bank of
San Francisco, with the data presented visually in the FedViews
report. In their analysis of these sources of
information presented in diverse formats, students frame and
address a question or solve a problem raised by
their evaluation of the evidence. [RH.11–12.7]

• Students analyze the hierarchical relationships between
phrase searches and searches that use basic Boolean
operators in Tara Calishain and Rael Dornfest’s Google Hacks:
Tips & Tools for Smarter Searching, 2nd Edition.
[RST.11–12.5]

• Students analyze the concept of mass based on their close
reading of Gordon Kane’s “The Mysteries of Mass”
and cite specific textual evidence from the text to answer the
question of why elementary particles have mass
at all. Students explain important distinctions the author makes
regarding the Higgs field and the Higgs boson
and their relationship to the concept of mass. [RST.11–12.1]

• Students determine the meaning of key terms such as
hydraulic, trajectory, and torque as well as other
domain-specific words and phrases such as actuators, antilock
brakes, and traction control used in Mark Fisch-
etti’s “Working Knowledge: Electronic Stability Control.”
[RST.11–12.4]

Page 1 of 3

Homework #2: Project Proposal

Students will develop an individual project that employs tools
and techniques learned in the course.

This may include the modification of an existing HRA method
or the development of a new HRA

method applied to a chosen domain problem. Students are not
expected to collect or analyze data,

but will be required to detail a HRA data collection and analysis
plan and suggest implementation

strategies, similar to the structure of a funding proposal for an
exploratory project. Any topic can

be chosen, as long as the existence of human reliability issues
can be cited.

The project proposal, which is due at the beginning of the
course, is not expected to have details

related to the application of HRA tools and techniques that will
be learned later in the course.

However, the student is expected to discuss a human error issue
that negatively impacts human

health, safety, and/or performance in a particular domain and
has not yet been appropriately

addressed.

The project idea is expected to mature and develop over the
course of the semester with some later

modifications to account for knowledge gained through lectures,
reading, and discussions. This

will allow students to receive feedback on their proposed topic
as the course progresses.

The 1000 word proposal should include the following five
items. Please include section sub-

headers for each item.

1. Problem Statement – what is the human error and why is it
important?

o A problem can be defined as important if it has a measurable
impact on a critical

outcome (financial, health and well-being, performance, etc.).
Justify the problem

importance and its relevance to human error.

o Provide at least two sources with citations to justify problem
importance (newspaper

articles, journal papers, documented initiatives, industry white
papers, government

documents, verbal or written statements by key stakeholders,
etc.). The sources must

include a statistic and/or a subjective statement of importance.

o Provide a two-sentence concise summary of your problem
statement. Please note that

the required justification is separate from the two-sentence
summary.

[important human

error outcome]. The criticality of this problem has been verified
by [source]

through [specific qualitative/quantitative source content].

2. Why hasn’t someone found a solution previously?

o Discuss challenges and any prior attempts (not necessarily
HRAs) to address the

problem.

Page 2 of 3

3. Focus– what is the problem focus?

o Select one interaction category or a hybrid of two categories
and justify the relevance

to the problem statement.

-Human, Human-Group, Human-
Organization, Human-

Artifact.

o Select one human theoretical category or a hybrid of two
categories and justify the

relevance to the problem statement

- Select only one level of cognition as the
foundation for your

human process: Low level cognition (memory, sensory
processing, etc.); High

level cognition (decision making and problem solving).

– Interaction of cognitive level (low/high) with
other theoretical

categories may be appropriate for the selected problem focus,
although this is

not required: Sociological (relevant for simple human
interactions, excluding

human-artifact); Organizational (relevant for more complex
sociological

structures, human-org interaction).

o Provide at least two sources with citations to justify the
connection of the problem focus

(interaction category and human theoretical category) presented
in #3 to the problem

statement presented in #1. Examples of sources include
newspaper articles, journal

papers, documented initiatives, industry white papers,
government documents, verbal

or written statements by key stakeholders. The sources must
include a statistic and/or

a subjective statement of relevance.

o Provide a two-sentence concise summary of your problem
focus. Please note that the

required justification is separate from the two-sentence
summary.

interaction between

[stakeholders and/or processes and/or components], driven by
[human

theoretical category], resulting in [human error outcome defined
in #1]. The

existence and criticality of the problem focus has been verified
by [source]

through [specific qualitative/quantitative source content
referencing problem

focus]

o Note: Individual theories are not required to be listed here.
Theories will be addressed

in Homework 3.

o Note: The two sources required for #1 and #3 can be the same.

However, they must

independently address the justification of the problem statement
and problem focus.

4. Project Goals (high level discussion) – what do you hope to
gain from this HRA?

o How will the analysis potentially help to address the
identified problem focus?

5. What sources of information will you use for your project (be
specific)?

Page 3 of 3

o List and justify the use of at least two sources (stakeholders
and/or data) that will be

used to detail the processes associated with this human error.
The sources must be

specific to the focus identified in #3 (human interaction and
human theories). For

example, if your problem is focused on decision making (high
level cognition) in a

team environment (human-group interaction), then you need
sources (stakeholder

interviews, team protocols, meeting notes, etc.) to detail the
specific decisions that are

required in this context and the decision criterion (input).

flowcharts,

organizational charts, guidelines, and any other documentation
of the process.

Provide citations.

ta and/or
stakeholder sources to the

focus identified in #3.

relevant information for

stakeholders who will be utilized for the project.

o Describe how you will access and utilize the selected sources.

o Note: The data and stakeholder sources can overlap with the
sources identified in #1

and #3 if the requirements for #5 are independently addressed
by the source.

o Note: You may use yourself as one of the sources if you have
direct knowledge of a

process or component that is not publically documented.
However, you cannot be listed

as a primary source to satisfy the aforementioned two source
minimum requirement.

You many only use yourself as a supplemental source. Non-
publically documented

sources are only relevant for topics that involve confidential
information or the use of

internal resources from an organization.

Class Profile
Student Name
English Language Learner
Gender
Other
Age
Oral Language Development
Uses Phonics and Morphology to Decode Words
Reading Lexile/ Grade
Performance Level
Written Expression Level
Social/Pragmatic/Communication Skills
Arturo
Yes
Male
Tier 2 RTI for reading
Grade level

Below grade level

No
Below grade level

Below grade level

Good
Bertie
No
Female
None
Grade level

Above grade level

Yes
Above grade level
Below grade level-writing simple sentences
Needs help resolving conflicts
Beryl
No
Female
NOTE: School does not have gifted program
Grade level

Above grade level

Yes
Above grade level
Above grade level

Good
Brandie
No
Female

Tier 2 RTI for math
Grade level

Below grade level

No; reads sight words only
Below grade level
Below grade level-only writes name and sight words
Needs help with verbal and nonverbal signals
Dessie
No
Female
Tier 2 RTI for math
Grade level

At grade level

Yes
At grade level

Below grade level

Good
Diana
Yes
Female
Tier 2 RTI for reading
Grade level
Below grade level
No

Below grade level
Below grade level
Good
Donnie
No

Female
Hearing aids

Grade level

Below grade level

No
At grade level

Above grade level

Good
Eduardo
Yes
Male
Tier 2 RTI for reading
Grade level

At grade level

Yes
Below grade level
Below grade level-writing simple sentences

Good
Emma
No
Female
None

Grade level

Above grade level

Yes
At grade level

Above grade level

Good
Enrique
No
Male
Tier 2 RTI for reading

One year above grade level

At grade level

No; reads sight words only

Below grade level

Below grade level

Good
Fatma
Yes
Female
Tier 2 RTI for reading
Grade level

At grade level

Yes

Below grade level

Below grade level-only writes name and sight words

Needs help rephrasing when misunderstood
Frances
No
Female
Diabetic

Grade level

At grade level

Yes

At grade level

At grade level

Good
Francesca
No
Female
None
Grade level

Above grade level

Yes

At grade level

Above grade level

Needs help staying on topic

Fredrick
No
Male
Tier 3 RTI for reading and math
One year above grade level

Below grade level

No; reads sight words only
Below grade level

Below grade level-writing simple sentences

Needs help with verbal and nonverbal signals
Ines
No
Female
Tier 2 RTI for math
Grade level

Above grade level

Yes

Below grade level

At grade level

Good
Jade
No
Female
None
Grade level

At grade level

Yes

At grade level

Below grade level

Good
Kent
No
Male
None
Grade level

Above grade level

Yes

At grade level

Above grade level

Good
Lolita
No
Female
None
Grade level

Below grade level

Yes

At grade level

At grade level

Good
Maria
No
Female
NOTE: School does not have gifted program
Grade level

Above grade level

Yes
At grade level

Above grade level

Good
Mason
No
Male
None
Grade level

At grade level

Yes
At grade level

At grade level

Needs help staying on topic
Nick
No
Male

NOTE: School does not have gifted program
Grade level

Above grade level

Yes
Above grade level

Above grade level

Needs help taking turns in conversation
Noah
No
Male
None
Grade level

At grade level

Yes

At grade level

At great level

Good
Sharlene
No
Female
None
Grade level
Below grade level

No; reads sight words only
Above grade level

At great level

Good
Sophia
No
Female
None
Grade level

Above grade level

Yes
At grade level

At grade level

Good
Stuart
No
Male
Allergic to peanuts
Grade level

At grade level

Yes
Above grade lev At grade level el

At grade level

Good
Terrence
No
Male
None
Grade level

At grade level

Yes
At grade level

Below grade level
Needs help resolving conflicts
Wade
No
Male
None
Grade level

Below grade level

Yes
At grade level
At grade level

Good
Wayne
No
Male
Tier 3 RTI for math
Grade level

Below grade level

Yes
Below grade level

At grade level
Needs help rephrasing when misunderstood
Wendell

No
Male
Tier 3 RTI for math
Grade level

At grade level
Yes
Below grade level

Below grade level

Good
Yung
No
Male
NOTE: School does not have gifted program
One year below grade level

At grade level

Yes
Above grade level

Below grade level

Good

© 2019. Grand Canyon University. All Rights Reserved.

Rubic_Print_FormatCourse CodeClass CodeAssignment
TitleTotal PointsReading Comprehension: Strategies and
ActivitiesCriteriaPercentageNo Submission (0.00%)Insufficient
(69.00%)Approaching (74.00%)Acceptable (87.00%)Target

(100.00%)CommentsPoints EarnedCriteria100.0%Part 1:
Strategies30.0%Not addressed.Summary insufficiently identifies
reading comprehension strategies.Marginal summary of reading
comprehension strategies is provided, weakly identifying
conditions under which each is to be delivered for students with
reading comprehension deficits.Sound summary of reading
comprehension strategies is provided, identifying conditions
under which each is to be delivered for students with reading
comprehension deficits.Comprehensive summary of reading
comprehension strategies is provided, clearly identifying
conditions under which each is to be delivered for students with
reading comprehension deficits.Part 2: Activities35.0%Not
addressed.Outline and summary of activities unconvincingly
attempts to engage and emphasize reading comprehension for
chosen small group.Outline and summary of activities
superficially engage and emphasize reading comprehension
using irrelevant CCSS text and weak strategies for chosen small
group.Outline and summary of activities engage and emphasize
reading comprehension using identified CCSS text and
applicable strategies appropriate for chosen small group.Outline
and summary of activities thoroughly addresses and emphasizes
reading comprehension using identified relevant CCSS text and
suitable strategies appropriate for chosen small group.Part 3:
Rationale20.0%Not addressed.Rationale is ineffective in
explaining how instructional choices are applicable to the
chosen small group or how the identified strategies and
activities enhance the language development of adolescents with
deficits in their reading comprehension skills.Rationale
ambiguously supports instructional choices that are broadly
applicable to the chosen small group. Minimally explains how
the identified strategies and activities enhance the language
development of adolescents with deficits in their reading
comprehension skills.Rationale is effective in explaining how
instructional choices applicable to the chosen small group. It
clearly describes how the identified strategies and activities
enhance the language development of adolescents with deficits

in their reading comprehension skills.Rationale is
comprehensive and professional in explaining how instructional
choices are ideal for the chosen small group. It skillfully details
how the identified strategies and activities enhance the language
development of adolescents with deficits in their reading
comprehension skills.Research5.0%Not addressed.Sources
provided do not support the claims of the presentation or are not
credible. Required number of sources may not be
met.Submission includes only 1-2 sources, sources do not fully
support claims, or sources are not all credible.Research is
relevant and generally supports the information presented. All
of the criteria stated in the assignment are addressed.Research
is supportive of the information presented. Sources are timely,
distinctive and clearly address all of the criteria stated in the
assignment.Mechanics of Writing (includes spelling,
punctuation, grammar, language use)10.0%Not
addressed.Surface errors are pervasive enough that they impede
communication of meaning. Inappropriate word choice and/or
sentence construction are used.Frequent and repetitive
mechanical errors distract the reader. Inconsistencies in
language choice (register) and/or word choice are present.
Sentence structure is correct but not varied.Some mechanical
errors or typos are present, but are not overly distracting to the
reader. Correct and varied sentence structure and audience-
appropriate language are employed.Writer is clearly in
command of standard, written, academic English.Total
Weightage100%

Reading Comprehension: Strategies and Activities

When teaching students to comprehend and summarize text,
teachers can use a variety of activities before, during, and after
reading to help students understand elements within a plot.
Utilizing appropriate strategies that incorporate summarizing
skills helps to increase students’ reading comprehension skills.
Use the “Reading Comprehension Template” to complete this

assignment.
Part 1: Strategies
Research and summarize, in 250‐500 words, a minimum of five
strategies for teaching adolescent students with deficits in their
reading comprehension skills. Identify the conditions under
which the chosen strategies are intended to be delivered (e.g.,
content area, class setting, required resources, if intended for a
specific type of disability).
Support your findings with 2‐3 scholarly resources.
Part 2: Activity
Identify a group of 2‐3 eighth grade students, using the “Class
Profile,” who would benefit from additional instruction on
reading comprehension skills.
Identify a text appropriate to use with the small group
identified. You may use Appendix B of the Common Core
English Language Arts Standards to help you determine an
appropriate text for the lesson.
Draft a 250‐500 word outline summarizing three activities to
reinforce reading comprehension and summarizing skills,
utilizing the identified text. Incorporate at least three of the
strategies from Part 1 into your activities.
Part 3: Rationale
In 250‐500 words, rationalize your instructional decisions in
Part 2 of this assignment. Explain how the identified strategies
and activities enhance the language development of adolescents
with deficits in their reading comprehension skills. Cite the
“Class Profile” where appropriate.
This assignment uses a rubric. Review the rubric prior to
beginning the assignment to become familiar with the
expectations for successful completion.

common core state stanDarDs For english Language arts & .docx

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